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BAYARD TAYLOR. 



VIEWS A-FOOT: 



OR 



EUROPE SEEN WITH KNAPSACK 
AND STAFF 



BY 



BAYARD TAYLOR. 



With a 


preface <BY^i€wlLis. 




Library hi i\i\ou 




SOL~"~r:3 (k 3A1LOR3 




C " ' a I -.:■-. ? 




■•.-''-■ - « -^_- 5 > . - ■/ i i , i s -» c 8. 


Jog 


on, jog on, the foot-path way, 
&ri<J;m£rri'ty [heMtTlthe stile-a; 


A 


nerry heart goes all the day, 
Yom iail tii eh in a mile-a. ■ — 



- —Winter's Tale. 



NEW-YORK : 
JOHN B. ALDEN, PUBLISHER, 



TAn 



TRANSFER 

49 

FEB 191946 

8er'al Record DiWsloi 
The Library of Congres, 
Copy 



CONTENTS. 



CHAPTER. PAGE. 

I. The Voyage, ,//..< 15 

II. A Day in Ireland, 23 

III. Ben Lomond and the Highland Lakes, . . .29 

IV. The Burns' Festival, 40 

V. Walk from Edinburgh over the Border and 

arrival at London, .48 

VI. Some of the "Sights" of London, 59 

VII. Flight through Belgium, 68 

VIII. The Bhine to Heidelberg, 75 

IX. Scenes in and around Heidelberg, 82 

X. A Walk through the Odenwald, 92 

XL Scenes in Frankfort — An American Composer 

—The Poet Freiligrath, 99 

XII. A Week among the Students, 109 

XIII. Christmas and New Year in Germany, . . . 116 

XIV. Winter in Frankfort — A Fair, an Inundation 

and a Fire, 122 

XV. The Dead and the Deaf— Mendelssohn the 

Composer, 133 

XVI. Journey on Foot from Frankfort to Cassel, . 139 

XVII. Adventures among the Hartz, 146 

XVIII. Notes in Leipsic and Dresden, 158 

XIX. Bambles in the Saxon Switzerland, .... 169 

XX. Scenes in Prague, 179 

XXI. Journey through Eastern Bohemia and Mo- 
ravia to the Danube, 186 

XXII. Vienna, 194 

XXIII. Up the Danube, 212 



CHAPTER. 

XXIV 

XXV. 

XXVI. 

XXVII. 

XXVIII. 

XXIX. 

XXX. 

XXXI. 

XXXII. 
XXXIII. 
XXXIV. 

XXXV. 
XXXVI. 

XXXVII. 
XXXVIII. 

XXXIX. 

XL. 

XLI. 

XLII. 

XLIII. 

XLIV. 

XLV. 

XLVI. 

XLVII. 

XLVIII. 
XLIX. 



CONTENTS. 

PAGK. 

The Unknown Student, 220 

The Austrian Alps, 223 

Munich, 234 

Through Wurtemberg to Heidelberg, . . 248 
Freiburg and the Black Forest, .... 258 
People and Places in Eastern Switzerland, 268 
Passage of St. Gothard and descent into 

Italy, 279 

Milan, 292 

Walk from Milan to Genoa, 298 

Scenes in Genoa, Leghorn and Pisa, . . 304 

Florence and its Galleries, 316 

Pilgrimage to Vallombrosa, 330 

Walk to Siena and Pratolino — Incidents 

in Florence, . 338 

American Art in Florence, 351 

An Adventure on the Great St. Bernard — 

Walks around Florence, 360 

Winter Travelling among the Apennines, 369 

Rome, 382 

Tivoli and the Roman Campagna, . . . 399 
Tivoli and the Roman Campagna, (con- 
tinued), 408 

Pilgrimage to Vaucluse and Journey up 

the Rhone, 415 

Travelling in Burgundy— The Miseries of 

a Country Diligence, 429 

Poetical Scenes in Paris, 436 

A Glimpse of Normandy, 444 

Lockhart, Bernard Barton and Croly — 

London Chimes and Greenwich Fair, 449 
Homeward Bound— Conclusion, .... 458 
Advice and Information for Pedestrians, 469 



TO THE READER. 



In presenting to the public a new and im- 
proved edition of this record of his wanderings, 
the author could not justly suffer the oppor- 
tunity to go by, without expressing his grate- 
ful acknowledgment of the kindness with which 
his work has been received. Although his aim 
was simply to give a narrative of personal ex- 
perience, which it was hoped might be of some 
value to many a toiling student in the college 
of the world, he was aware that it would be 
considered a test of his literary ability, and 
that whatever hearing he might have hoped 
to obtain for the works of maturer years, 
would be dependent on its success. With a to- 
tal ignorance of the arts of book-making, and 
uncertain whether a new voice from the track 
where thousands had been before him, would 
find a patient auditory, it was therefore not 
without considerable anxiety that he gave his 
volume to the world. But he was not prepared 
to hope for such an immediate and generous 
favor as it received. By the press of our coun- 
try, as well as the more rigid reviewers of Great 
Britain, whatever merits it possesses were cor- 
dially appreciated, while its faults were but 
lightly touched — perhaps from a sympathy with 
the youth of the author and the plan of his 
enthusiastic pilgrimage. But what was most 
grateful of all, he learned that many another 
young and hopeful spirit had been profited and 
encouraged by his own experience, and was 
ready to try the world with as little dependence 
on worldly means. The letters he received from 



8 TO THE READER. 

persons whose hopes and circumstances were 
what his own had been, gave welcome evidence 
that he had not written in vain. He will not 
say that this knowledge repaid him for what- 
ever toil and hardship he had undergone ; who- 
ever is subjected to the same experience will 
learn that it brings its own reward to the mind ; 
— but it will nerve him henceforth to bear any 
lot, however severe, through which he maj' be 
enabled to say a word that shall Cheer or 
strengthen another. 

He is now fully aware how much he has omit- 
ted from these pages, which would have been 
curious and perhaps instructive to the reader; 
— how many blunders of inexperience ; how much 
thoughtless confidence in the world ; how many 
painful struggles "with pride, and a too-selfish 
independence ; how many strange extremities of 
want and amusing expedients of relief. His re- 
luctance to relate much that was entirely per- 
sonal and could not have been told without 
some little sacrifice of feeling, has since been re- 
gretted, from the belief that it might have been 
useful to others. Perhaps, however, it will be 
better that each one should learn these lessons 
for himself. There is a sensation of novelty, 
which, even in the most embarrassing situa- 
tions, produces a desperate kind of enjoyment, 
and in addition to this, the sufferer's sympa- 
thies for humanity are very much deepened and 
enlarged by an acquaintance with its trials. 

In preparing the present edition of his book, 
the author at first contemplated a complete re- 
vision. The fact that seven editions had been 
sold in a year and a half from the publication, 
seemed to "require that he should maKe such im- 
provements as his riper judgment suggested, 
and which should render it more worthy of so 
extensive a circulation. But further reflection 
convinced him that it would be best to make 
little change. It was written during his wan- 



TO THE READER. 9 

derings — partly by the wayside, when resting at 
mid-day, and partly on the rough tables of 
peasant inns, in the stillness of deserted ruins, 
or amid the sublime solitude of the mountain- 
top. It thus reflects faithfully the impress of 
his own mind, in every part of the journey, and 
he would prefer that it should remain a boyish 
work, however lacking in finish of composition, 
rather than risk taking away whatever spirit it 
may have caught from nature. Some particu- 
lars, which have been desired by persons about 
to undertake a similar journey, and which may 
be generally interesting, have been given in a 
new chapter at the close. With this addition, 
and that of a sketch illustrating the costume of 
a pedestrian, which has been made by a poet 
and artist friend, the work is again given to the 
public. The author may hereafter be better 
able to deserve their commendation. His wan- 
derings are not yet over. 

New-York, August, 1848. 



PREFACE. 



BY N. P. WILLIS. 

The book which follows, requires little or no 
introduction. It tells its own story, and tells it 
well. The interest in it, which induces the writer 
of this preface to be its usher to the public, is 
simply that of his having chanced to be among 
the first appreciators of the author's talent — 
an appreciation that has since been so more than 
justified, that the writer is proud to call the au- 
thor of this book his friend, and bespeak atten- 
tion to the peculiar energies he has displayed 
in travel and authorship. Mr. Taylor's poetical 
productions while he was still a printer's appren- 
tice, made a strong impression on the writer's 
mind, and he gave them their due of praise ac- 
cordingly in the newspaper of which he was then 
Editor. Some correspondence ensued, and other 
fine pieces of writing strengthened the admira- 
tion thus awakened, and when the young poet- 
mechanic came to the city, and modestly an- 
nounced the bold determination of visiting for- 
eign lands — with means, if they could be got, but 
with reliance on manual labor if they could not — 
the writer, understanding the man, and seeing 
how capable he was of carrying out his manly 
and enthusiastic scheme, and that it would work 
uneorruptingly for the improvement of his mind 
and character, counselled him- to go. He went — 
his book tells how successfully for all his pur- 
poses. He has returned, after two years' ab- 
sence, with large knowledge of the world, of 
men and of manners, with a pure, invigorated 



12 PREFA CE. 

and healthy mind, having passed all this time 
abroad, and seen and accomplished more than 
most travelers, at the cost of only $500, and this 
sum earned on the road. This, in the writer's 
opinion, is a fine instance of character and en- 
ergy. The book, which records the difficulties 
and struggles of a printer's apprentice achieving 
this, must be interesting to Americans. The 
pride of the country is in its self-made men. 

What Mr. Taylor is, or what he is yet to be- 
come, cannot well be touched upon here, but 
that it will yet be written, and on a bright 
page, is, of course, his own confident hope and 
the Avriter's confident expectation. The book, 
which is the record of his progress thus far, is 
now cordially commended to the public, and it 
will be read, perhaps, more understanding^ after 
a perusal of the following outline sketch of the 
difficulties the author had to contend with — a 
letter written in reply to a note from the writer 
asking for some of the particulars of his start 
and progress: 

To Mr. Willis — 

My dear Sir: — 
Nearly three years ago (in the beginning of 
1844) the time for accomplishing my long cher- 
ished desire of visiting Europe, seemed to arrive. 
A cousin, who had long intended going abroad, 
was to leave in a few months, and although I 
was then surrounded by the most unfavorable 
circumstances, I determined to accompany him, 
at whatever hazard. I had still two years of 
iny apprenticeship to serve out ; I was entirely 
without means, and my project was strongly 
opposed by my friends, as something too vis- 
ionary to be practicable. A short time before 
Mr. Griswold advised me to publish a small 
volume of youthful effusions, a few of which had 
appeared in Graham's Magazine, which he then 
edited ; the idea struck me, that by so doing, I 



PRE FA C/i. 13 

might, if they should be favorably noticed, ob- 
tain a newspaper correspondence which would 
enable me to make the start. 

The volume was published; a sufficient num- 
ber was sold among my friends to defray all ex- 
penses, and it was charitably noticed by the 
Philadelphia press. Some literary friends, to 
whom I confided my design, promised to aid me 
with their influence. Trusting to this, I made 
arrangements for leaving the printing-office, 
which I succeeded in doing, by making a certain 
compensation for the remainder of my time. I 
was now fully confident of success, feeling satis- 
fied, that a strong will would always make itself 
a way. After many applications to different 
editors and as many disappointments, I finally 
succeeded, about two weeks before our departure, 
in making a partial engagement. Mr. Chandler, 
of the United States Gazette, and Mr. Patterson, 
of the Saturday Evening Post, paid me fifty dol- 
lars, each, in advance for twelve letters, to be sent 
from Europe, with the probability of accepting 
more, if these should be satisfactory. This, with 
a sum which I received from Mr. Graham for 
poems published in his Magazine, put me in pos- 
session of about a hundred and forty dollars, 
with which I determined to start, trusting to 
future remuneration for letters, or if that should 
fail, to my skill as a compositor, for I supposed 
I could at the worst, work my way through Eu- 
rope, like the German hand werker. Thus, with 
another companion, we left home, an enthusiastic 
and hopeful trio. 

I need not trace our wanderings at length. 
After eight months of suspense, during which 
time my small means were entirely exhausted, I 
received a letter from Mr. Patterson, continuing 
the engagement for the remainder of my stay, 
with a remittance of one hundred dollars from 
himself and Mr. Graham. Other remittances, 
received from time to time, enabled me to stay 



14 PR EPA CB. 

abroad two years, during which I traveled on 
foot upwards of three thousand miles in Germany, 
Switzerland, Italy and France. I was obliged, 
however, to use the strictest economy — to live on 
pilgrim fare, and to do penance in rain and cold. 
My means several times entirely failed; but I was 
always relieved from serious difficulty through 
unlooked-for friends, or some unexpected turn of 
fortune. At Rome, owing to the expenses and 
embarrassments of traveling in Italy, I was 
obliged to give up my original design of pro- 
ceeding on foot to Naples and across the penin- 
sula to Otranto, sailing thence to Corfu and 
making a pedestrian journey through Albania 
and Greece. But the main object of my pilgrimage 
is accomplished; I visited the principal places of 
interest in Europe, enjoyed her grandest scenery 
and the marvels of ancient and modern art, 
became familiar with other languages, other cus- 
toms and other institutions, and returned home, 
after two years' absence, willing now, with sat- 
isfied curiosity, to resume life in America. 

Yours, most sincerely, 

J. Bayard Taylor. 




BAYARD TAYLOR, 1844. 
In his Traveling Costmn. 



VIEWS A-FOOT. 



CHAPTER I 

THE VOYAGE. 

An enthusiastic desire of visiting the Old 
World haunted me from early childhood. I 
cherished a presentiment, amounting almost to 
belief, that I should one day behold the scenes, 
among which my fancy had so long wandered. 
The want of means was for a time a serious 
check to my anticipations ; but I could not con- 
tent myself to wait until I had slowly accumu- 
lated so large a sum as tourists usually spend 
on their travels. It seemed to me that a more 
humble method of seeing the world would place 
within the power of almost every one, what has 
hitherto been deemed the privilege of the wealthy 
few. Such a journey, too, offered advantages 
for becoming acquainted with people as well as 
places— for observing more intimately, the effect 
of government and education, and more than 
all, for the study of human nature, in every con- 
dition of life. At length I became possessed of a 
small sum, to be earned by letters descriptive of 
things abroad, and on the 1st of July, 1844, set 
sail for Liverpool, with a relative and friend, 
whose circumstances were somewhat similar to 
mine. How far the success of the experiment 
and the object of our long pilgrimage were at- 
tained, these pages will show. 



JG VIEWS A- FOOT. 



LAND AND SEA. 



There are springs that rise in the greenwood's heart, 

Where its leafj glooms are cast, 
And the branches droop in the solemn air, 

Unstirred by the sweeping blast, 
There are hills that lie in the noontide calm, 

On the lap of the quiet eatth; 
And crowned with gold by the ripened grain, 

Surround my place of birth. 

Dearer are these to my pining heart, 

Than the beauty of the deep, 
When the moonlight falls in a belt of gold 

On the waves that heave in sleep. 
The rustling talk of the clustered leaves 

That shade a well-known door, 
Is sweeter far than the booming sound 

Of the breaking wave before. 

When night on the ocean sinks calmly down, 

I climb the vessel's prow, 
Where the foam- wreath glows with its phosphor light 

Like a crown on a sea-nymph's brow. 
Above, through the lattice of rope and spar, 

The stars in their beauty burn; 
And the spirit longs to ride their beams, 

And back to the loved return. 

They say that the sunset is brighter far 

When it sinks behind the sea; 
That the stars shine out with a softer fire — 

Not thus they seem to me. 
Dearer the flush of the crimson west 

Through trees that my childhood knew, 
When the star of love, with its silver lamp, 

Lights the homes of the tried and true! 

Could one live on the sense of beauty alone, 
exempt from the necessity of "creature com- 
forts," a sea-voyage would be delightful. To 
the landsman there is sublimity in the wild and 
ever- varied forms of the ocean; they fill his 
mind with living images of a glory he had only 
dreamed of before. But we would have been 
willing to forego all this and get back the com- 
forts of the shore. At New York we took pas- 



THE A TL ANTIC. 17 

sage in the second cabin of the Oxford, which, 
as usual in the Liverpool packets, consisted of a 
small space amid-ships, fitted up with rough, 
temporary berths. The communication with 
the deck is by an open hatch-way, which in 
storms is closed down. As the passengers in 
this cabin furnish their own provisions, we 
made ourselves acquainted with the contents of 
certain storehouses on Pine St. wharf, and pur- 
chased a large box of provisions, which was 
stowed away under our narrow berth. The 
cook, for a small compensation, took on him- 
self the charge of preparing them, and we made 
ourselves as comfortable as the close, dark 
dwelling would admit. 

As we approached the Banks of Newfoundland, 
a gale arose, which for two days and nights 
carried us on, careering Mazeppa-like, up hill and 
doAvn. The sea looked truly magnificent, al- 
though the sailors told us it was nothing at all 
in comparsion with the storms of winter. But 
Ave were not permitted to pass the Banks, with- 
out experiencing one of the calms, for which that 
neighborhood is noted. For three days we lay 
almost motionless on the glassy water, some- 
times surrounded by large flocks of sea-gulls. 
The weed brought by the gulf stream, floated 
around — some branches we fished up, were full of 
beautiful little shells. Once a large school of 
black-fish came around the vessel, and the car- 
penter climbed down on the fore-chains, with a 
harpoon to strike one. Scarcely had he taken 
his position, when they all darted off in a straight 
line, through the water, and were soon out of 
sight. He said they smelt the harpoon. 

We congratulated ourselves on having reached 
the Banks in seven days, as it is considered the 
longest third-part of the passage. But the hopes 
of reaching Liverpool in twenty days, were soon 
overthrown. A succession of southerly winds 
drove the vessel as far north as lat. 55 deg., 



1 8 VIE WS A-FO O T. 

without bringing us much nearer our destina- 
tion. It was extremely cold, for we were but five 
degrees south of the latitude of Greenland, and 
the long northern twilights came on. The last 
glow of the evening twilight had scarcely faded, 
before the first glimmering of dawn appeared. I 
found it extremely easy to read, at 10 P. M., 
on the deck. 

We had much diversion on board from a com- 
pany of Iowa Indians, under the celebrated chief 
"White Cloud," who are on a visit to England. 
They are truly a wild enough looking company, 
and helped not a little to relieve the tedium of 
the passage. The chief was a very grave and 
dignified person, but some of the braves were 
merry enough. One day w : e had a w^ar-dance on 
deck, which was a most ludicrous scene. The 
chief and two braves sat upon the deck, beating 
violently a small drum and howling forth their 
war-song, while the others in full dress, painted 
in a grotesque style, leaped about, brandishing 
tomahawks and spears, and terminating each 
dance with a terrific yell. Some of the men are 
very fine-looking, but the squaws are all ugly. 
They occupied part of the second cabin, separa- 
ted only by a board partition froni our room. 
This proximity was anj-thing but agreeable. 
They kept us awake more than half the night, 
by singing and howling in the most dolorous 
manner, with the accompaniment of slapping 
their hands violently on their bare breasts. We 
tried an opposition, and a young German stu 
dent, who was returning home after two years' 
travel in America, made our room ring with the 
chorus from Der Freishutz— but in vain. They 
would howl and beat their breasts, and the 
pappoose would squall. Any loss of temper ?s 
therefore not to be w T ondered at, when I state 
that I could scarcely turn in my berth, much 
less stretch myself out ; my cramped Jambs alone- 
drove off half the night's" slumber, 



FIRST SIGHT OF LAND. 19 

It was a pleasure, at least, to gaze on their 
strong athletic frames. Their massive chests and 
powerful limbs put to shame our dwindled pro- 
portions. One old man, in particular, who seemed 
the patriarch of the band, used to stand for 
hours on the quarter deck, sublime and mo- 
tionless as a statue of Jupiter. An interesting 
incident occurred during the calm of which I 
spoke. They began to be fearful we were doomed 
to remain there forever, unless the spirits were 
invoked for a favorable wind. Accordingly the 
prophet lit his pipe and smoked with great de- 
liberation, muttering all the while in a low voice. 
Then, having obtained a bottle of beer from the 
captain, he poured it solemnly over the stern of 
the vessel into the sea. There were some indica- 
tions of wind at the time, and accordingly the 
next morning we had a fine breeze, which the 
Iowas attributed solely to the Prophet's incan- 
tation and Eolus' love of beer. 

After a succession of calms and adverse winds, 
on the 25th we were off the Hebrides, and though 
not within sight of land, the southern winds 
came to us strongly freighted with the "meadow 
freshness " of the Irish bogs, so we could at least 
smell it. That day the wind became more fav- 
orable, and the next morning we were all roused 
out of our berths by sunrise, at the long wished- 
for cry of "land ! " Just under the golden flood 
of light that streamed through the morning 
clouds, lay afar-off and indistinct the crags of 
an island, with the top of a light-house visible 
at one extremity. To the south of it, and 
barely distinguishable, so completely was it 
blended in hue with the veiling cloud, loomed up 
a lofty mountain. I shall never forget the 
sight ! As we drew nearer, the dim and soft out- 
line it first wore, was broken into a range of 
crags, with lofty precipices jutting out to the 
sea, and sloping off inland. The white wall of 
the light-house shone in the morning's light, 



20 VIEWS A-FOOT. 

and the foam of the breakers dashed up at the 
foot of the airy cliffs. It was worth all the 
troubles of a long voyage, to feel the glorious 
excitement which this herald of new scenes and 
new adventures created. The light-house was 
on Tory Island, on the north-western coast of 
Ireland. The Captain decided on taking the 
North Channel, for, although rarely done, it was 
in our case nearer, and is certainly more inter- 
esting than the usual route. 

We passed the Island of Ennistrahul, near the 
entrance of Londonderry harbor, and at sunset 
saw in the distance the islands of May and 
Jura, off the Scottish coast. Next morning we 
were close to the promontory of Fairhead, a 
bold, precipitous headland, like some of the Pal- 
isades on the Hudson; the highlands of the 
Mull of Cantire were on the opposite side of the 
Channel, and the wind being ahead, Ave tacked 
from shore to shore, running so near the Irish 
coast, that we could see the little thatched huts, 
stacks of peat, and even rows of potatoes in the 
fields. It was a panorama : the view extended 
for miles inland, and the fields of different-col- 
ored grain were spread out before us, a brilliant 
mosaic. Towards evening we passed Ailsa Crag, 
the sea-bird's home, within sight, though about 
twenty miles distant. 

On Sunday, the 28th, we passed the lofty 
headland of the Mull of Galloway and entered 
the Irish Sea. Here there ivas an occurrence of 
an impressive nature. A woman, belonging to 
the steerage, who had been ill the whole pas- 
sage, died the morning before. She appeared to 
be of a very avaricious disposition, though this 
might indeed have been the result of self-denial, 
practiced through filial affection. In the morn- 
ing she was speechless, and while they were en- 
deavoring to persuade her to give up her keys 
to the captain, died. In her pocket were found 
two parcels, containing forty sovereigns, sewed 



LANDING. 21 

tip with the most miserly care. It was ascer- 
tained she had a widowed mother in the north 
of Ireland, and judging her money could be bet- 
ter applied than to paying for a funeral on 
shore, the captain gave orders for committing 
the body to the waves. It rained drearily as 
her corpse, covered with starred bunting/ was 
held at the gangway while the captain read the 
funeral service; then one plunge was heard, and 
a white object flashed up through the dark 
waters, as the ship passed on. 

In the afternoon we passed the Isle of Man, 
having a beautiful view of the Calf, with a white 
stream tumbling down the rocks into the sea; 
and at night saw the sun set behind the moun- 
tains of Wales. About midnight, the pilot came 
on board, and soon after sunrise I saw the dis- 
tant spires of Liverpool. The Welsh coast was 
studded with windmills, all in motion, and the 
harbor spotted with buoys, bells and floating- 
lights. How delightful it was to behold the 
green trees on the banks of the Mersey, and to 
know that in a few hours we should be on land ! 
About 11 o'clock we came to anchor in the 
channel of the Mersey, near the docks, and after 
much noise, bustle and confusion, were trans- 
ferred, with our baggage, to a small steamboat, 
giving a parting cheer to the Iowas, who re- 
mained on board. On landing, I stood a mo- 
ment to observe the scene. The baggage-wagons, 
drawn by horses, mules and donkeys, were ex- 
traordinary ; men were going about crying "the 
celebrated Tralorum gingerbread!" which they 
carried in baskets ; and a boy in the University 
dress, with long blue gown and yellow knee- 
breeches, was running to the wharf to look at 
the Indians. 

At last the carts were all loaded, the word 
was given to start, and then, Avhat a scene en- 
sued ! Away went the mules, the horses and the 
donkeys; away ran men and women and chil- 



22 VIEWS A-FOOT. 

dren, carrying chairs and trunks, and boxes and 
bedding. The wind was blowing, and the dust 
whirled up as they dashed helter-skelter through 
the gate and started off on a hot race, down the 
dock to the depot. Two wagons came together, 
one of which was overturned, scattering the 
broken boxes of a Scotch family over the pave- 
ment; but while the poor woman was crying 
over her loss, the tide swept on, scarcely taking 
time to glance at the mishap. 

Our luggage was "passed " with little trouble; 
the officer merely opening the trunks and press- 
ing his hands on the top. Even some American 
reprints of English works which my companion 
carried, and feared would be taken from him, 
were passed over without a word. I was agree- 
ably surprised at this, as from the accounts of 
some travelers, I had been led to fear horrible 
things of custom-houses. This over, we took a 
stroll about the city. I was first struck by see- 
ing so many people walking in the middle of the 
streets, and so many gentlemen going about 
with pinks stuck in their button-holes. Then, 
the houses being all built of brown granite or 
dark brick, gives the town a sombre appear- 
ance, which the sunshine (when there is any) 
cannot dispel. Of Liverpool we saw little. Be- 
fore the twilight had wholly faded, we were again 
tossing on the rough waves of the Irish Sea. 



IRISH PEASANTIif. 23 



CHAPTER II. 

A DAY IN IRELAND. 

On calling at the steamboat office in Liver- 
pool, to take passage to Port Rush, we found 
that the fare in the fore cabin was but two shil- 
lings and a half, while in the chief cabin it was 
six times as much. As I had started to make 
the tour of all Europe with a sum little higher 
than is sometimes given for the mere passage to 
and fro, there was no alternative— the twenty- 
four hours' discomfort could be more easily en- 
dured than the expense, and as I expected to en- 
counter many hardships, it was best to make a 
beginning. I had crossed the ocean with toler- 
able comfort for twenty-four dollars, and was 
determined to try whether England, where I 
had been told it was almost impossible to 
breathe without expense, might not also be seen 
by one of limited means. 

The fore cabin was merely a bare room, with 
a bench along one side, which was occupied by 
half a dozen Irishmen in knee-breeches and heavy 
brogans. As we passed out of the Clarence Dock 
at 10 P. M., I went below and managed to get a 
seat on one end of the bench, where I spent the 
night in sleepless misery. The Irish bestowed 
themselves about the floor as they best could, 
for there was no light, and very soon the Mor- 
phean deepness of their breathing gave token of 
blissful unconsciousness. 

The next morning was misty and rainy, but I 
preferred walking the deck and drying myself 
occasionally beside the chimney, to sitting in the 
dismal room below. We passed the Isle of Man, 



U VIEWS A- FOOT. 

and through the whole forenoon were tossed 
about very disagreeably in the North Channel. 
In the afternoon we stopped at Larne, a little 
antiquated village, not far from Belfast, at the 
head of a crooked arm of the sea. There is an 
old ivy-grown tower near, and high green moun- 
tains rise up around. After leaving it, we had a 
beautiful panoramic view of the northern coast. 
Many of the precipices are of the same forma- 
tion as the Causeway ; Fairhead, a promontory 
of this kind, is grand in the extreme. The per- 
pendicular face of fluted rock is about three hun- 
dred feet in height, and towering up sublimely 
from the water, seemed almost to overhang our 
heads. 

My companion compared it to Niagara Falls 
petrified; and I think the simile very striking. 
It is like a cataract falling in huge waves, in 
some places leaping out from a projecting rock, 
in others descending in an unbroken sheet. 

We passed the Giant's Causeway after dark, 
and about eleven o'clock reached the harbor of 
Port Rush, where, after stumbling up a strange 
old street, in the dark, we found a little inn, and 
soon forgot the Irish Coast and everything else. 

In the morning when we arose it was raining, 
with little prospect of fair weather, but having 
expected nothing better, we set out on foot for 
the Causeway. The rain, however, soon came 
down in torrents, and we were obliged to take 
shelter in a cabin by the road-side. The whole 
house consisted of one room, with bare walls 
and roof, and earthen floor, while a window of 
three or four panes supplied the light. A fire of 
peat was burning on the hearth, and their, break- 
fast, of potatoes alone, stood on the table. The 
occupants received us with rude but genuine 
hospitality, giving us the only seats in the room 
to sit upon; except a rickety bedstead that 
stood in one corner and a small table, there was 
no other furniture in the house. The man ap- 



THE GIANT'S CAUSEWAT. 25 

peared rather intelligent, and although he com- 
plained of the hardness of their lot, had no sym- 
pathy with O'Connel or the Eepeal movement. 

We left this miserable hut as soon. as it quit 
raining — and, though there were many cabins 
along the road, few were better than this. At 
length, after passing the walls of an old church, 
in the midst of older tombs, we saw the roofless 
towers of Dunluce Castle, on the sea-shore. It 
stands on an isolated rock, rising perpendicu- 
larly two hundred feet above the sea,, and con- 
nected with the cliffs of the mainland by a nar- 
row arch of masonry. On the summit of the 
cliffs were the remains of the buildings where the 
ancient lords kept their vassals. An old man, 
who takes care of it for Lord Antrim, on whose 
property it is situated, showed us the way down 
to the castle. We walked across the narrow 
arch, entered the ruined hall, and looked down 
on the roaring sea below. It still rained, the 
wind swept furiously through the decaying 
arches of the banqueting hall and waved the 
long grass on the desolate battlements. Far 
below, the sea foamed white on the breakers and 
sent up an unceasing boom. It was the most 
mournful and desolate picture I ever beheld. 
There were some low dungeons yet entire, and 
rude stairways, where, by stooping down, J 
could ascend nearly to the top of one of the tow- 
ers, and look out on the wild scenery of the 
coast. 

Going back, I found a way down the cliff, to 
the mouth of a cavern in the rock, which extends 
under the whole castle to the sea. Sliding down 
a heap of sand and stones, I stood under an arch 
eighty feet high; in front the breakers clashed 
into the entrance, flinging the spray half-way to 
the roof, while the sound rang up through the 
arches like thunder. It seemed to me the haunt 
of the old Norsemen's sea-gods ! 

We left the road near Dunluce and walked 



26 VIEWS A- FOOT. 

along the smooth beach to the cliffs that sur- 
round the Causeway. Here we obtained a guide, 
and descended to one of the caves which can be 
entered from the shore. Opposite the entrance 
a bare rock called Sea Gulf Isle, rises out of the 
sea like a church steeple. The roof at first was 
low, but we shortly came to a branch that 
opened on the sea, where the arch was forty-six 
feet in height. The breakers dashed far into the 
cave, and flocks of sea-birds circled round its 
mouth. The sound of a gun was like a deafen- 
ing peal of thunder, crashing from arch to arch 
till it rolled out of the cavern. 

On the top of the hill a splendid hotel is 
erected for visitors to the Causeway ; after pass- 
ing this we descended to the base of the cliffs, 
which are here upwards of four hundred feet 
high, and soon began to find, in the columnar 
formation of the rocks, indications of our ap- 
proach. The guide pointed out some columns 
which appeared to have been melted and run to- 
gether, from which Sir Humphrey Davy at- 
tributed the formation of the Causeway to the 
action of fire. Near this is the Giant's Well, a 
spring of the purest water, the bottom formed 
by three perfect hexagons, and the sides of regu- 
lar columns. One of us observing that no giant 
had ever drunk from it, the old man answered — 
"Perhaps not: but it was made by a giant — 
God Almighty!" 

From the well, the Causeway commences — a 
mass of columns, from triangular to octagonal, 
lying in compact forms, and extending into the 
sea. I was somewhat disappointed at first, 
having supposed the Causeway to be of great 
height, but I found the Giant's Loom, which is 
the highest part of it, to be but about fifty feet 
from the water. The singular appearance of the 
columns and the many strange forms which they 
assume, render it nevertheless, an object of the 
greatest interest. Walking out on the rocks we 



SPANISH BAT. 27 

came to the Ladies' Chair, the seat, the back, 
sides and footstool, being all regularly formed 
by the broken columns. The guide said that 
any lady who would take three drinks from the 
Giant's Well, then sit in this chair and think of 
any gentleman for whom she had a preference, 
would be married before a twelvemonth. I 
asked him if it would answer as well for gentle- 
men, for by a wonderful coincidence we had 
each drank three times at the well! He said 
it would, and thought he was confirming his 
statement. 

A cluster of columns about half-way up the 
cliff is called the Giant's Organ — from its very 
striking resemblance to that instrument, and a 
single rock, worn by the waves into the shape of 
a rude seat, is his chair. A mile or two further 
along the coast, two cliffs project from the 
range, leaving a vast semicircular space be- 
tween, which, from its resemblance to the old 
Roman theatres, was appropriated for that pur- 
pose by the Giant. Half-way down the crags 
are two or three pinnacles of rock, called the 
Chimneys, and the stumps of several others can 
be seen, which, it is said, were shot off by a ves- 
sel belonging to the Spanish Armada, in mistake 
for the towers of Dunluce Castle. The vessel 
was afterwards wrecked in the bay below, which 
has ever since been called Spanish Bay, and in 
calm weather the wreck may be still seen. Many 
of the columns of the Causeway have been car- 
ried off and sold as pillars for mantels — and 
though a notice is put up threatening any one 
with the rigor of the law, depredations are occa- 
sionally made. 

Returning, we left the road at Dunluce, and 
took a path which led along the summit of the 
cliffs. The twilight was gathering, and the wind 
blew with perfect fury, which, combined with the 
black and stormy sky, gave the coast an air of 
extreme wildness. All at once, as we followed 



28 VIEWS A FOOT. 

the winding path, the crags appeared to open 
before us, disclosing a yawning chasm, down 
which a large stream, falling in an unbroken 
sheet, was lost in the gloom below. Witnessed 
in a calm day, there may perhaps be nothing 
striking about it, but coming upon us at once, 
through the gloom of twilight, with the sea 
thundering below and a scowling sky above, it 
was absolutely startling. 

The path at last wound, with many a steep 
and slippery bend, down the almost perpendicu- 
lar crags, to the shore, at the foot of a giant is- 
olated rock, having a natural arch through it, 
eighty feet in height. We followed the narrow 
strip of beach, having the bare crags on one side 
and a line of foaming breakers on the other. It 
soon grew dark ; a furious storm came up and 
swept like a hurricane along the shore. I then 
understood what Home meant by "the length- 
ening javelins of the blast," for every drop 
seemed to strike with the force of an arrow, and 
our clothes were soon pierced in every part. 

Then we went up among the sand hills, and 
lost each other in the darkness, when, after 
stumbling about among the gullies for half an 
hour, shouting for my companions, 1 found the 
road and heard my call answered; but it hap- 
pened to be two Irishmen, who came up and 
said — " And is it another gintleman ye're callin' 
for? we heard some one cryin', and didn't know 
but somebody might be kilt." 

Finally, about eleven o'clock we all arrived at 
the inn, dripping with rain, and before a warm 
fire concluded the adventures of our day in Ire- 
land. 



A DECK PASSAGE. 29 



CHAPTER III. 

BEN LOMOND AND THE HIGHLAND LAKES. 

The steamboat Londonderry called the next 
day at Port Rush, and we left in her for Green- 
ock. We ran down the Irish Coast, past Dun- 
luce Castle and the Causeway, the Giant's organ 
was very plainly visible, and the winds were 
strong enough to have sounded a storm-song 
upon.it. Farther on we had a distant view of 
Carrick-a-Rede, a precipitous rock, separated by 
a yawning chasm from the shore, frequented by 
the catchers of sea-birds. A narrow swinging 
bridge, which is only passable in calm weather, 
crosses this chasm, 200 feet above the water. 

The deck of the steamer was crowded with 
Irish, and certainly gave no very favorable im- 

firession of the condition of the peasantry of 
reland. On many of their countenances there 
was scarcely a mark of intelligence — they were 
a most brutalized and degraded company of 
beings. Many of them were in a beastly state 
of intoxication, which, from the contents of 
some of their pockets, was not likely to de- 
crease. As evening drew on, two or three began 
singing and the others collected in groups 
around them. One of them who sang with great 
spirit, was loudly applauded, and poured forth 
song after song, of the most rude and unrefined 
character. 

We took a deck passage for three shillings, in 
preference to paying twenty for the cabin, and 
having secured a vacant place near the chimney, 
kept it during the whole passage. The waves 
were as rough in the Channel as 1 ever saw them 



30 VIEWS A- FOOT. 

in the Atlantic, and our iDoat was tossed about 
like a plaything. By keeping still we escaped 
sickness, but we could not avoid the sight of the 
miserable beings who filled the deck. Many of 
them spoke in the Irish tongue, and our German 
friend (the student whom I have already men- 
tioned) noticed in many of the words a resem- 
blance to his mother tongue. I procured a bowl 
of soup from the steward, but as I was not able 
to eat it, I gave it to an old man whose hungry 
look and wistful eyes convinced me it would not 
be lost on him. He swallowed it with ravenous 
avidity, together with a crust of bread, which 
was all I had to give him, and seemed for the 
time as happy and cheerful as if all his earthly 
wants were satisfied. 

We passed by the foot of Goat Fell, a lofty 
mountain on the island of Arran, and sped on 
through the darkness past the hills of Bute, till 
we entered the Clyde. We arrived at Greenock 
at one o'clock at night, and walking at random 
through its silent streets, met a policeman, whom 
we asked to show us wiiere we might find lodg- 
ings. He took my cousin and myself to the 
house of a poor widow, who had a spare bed 
which she let to strangers, and then conducted 
our comrade and the German to another lodg- 
ing-place. 

An Irish strolling musician, who was on board 
the Dumbarton boat, commenced playing soon 
after we left Greenock, and, to my surprise, struck 
at once into "Hail Columbia." Then he gave 
"the Exile of Erin," with the most touching 
sweetness; and I noticed that always after play- 
ing any air that was desired of him, he would 
invariably return to the sad lament, which I 
never heard executed with more feeling. It 
might have been the mild, soft air of the morn- 
ing, or some peculiar mood of mind that in- 
fluenced me, but I have been far less affected by 
music which would be considered immeasurably 



LEV EN VALE. 31 

superior to his. I had been thinking of America, 
and going np to the old man, I quietly bade him 
play " Home." It thrilled with a painful delight 
that almost brought tears to my eyes. My 
companion started as the sweet melody arose, 
and turned towards me, his face kindling with 
emotion. 

Dumbarton Rock rose higher and higher as we 
went up the Clyde, and before we arrived at the 
town I hailed the dim outline of Ben Lomond, 
rising far off among the highlands. The town 
is at the head of a small inlet, a short distance 
from the rock, which was once surrounded by 
water. We went immediately to the Castle. 
The rock is nearly 500 feet high, and from its 
position and great strength as a fortress, has 
been called the Gibraltar of Scotland. The top 
is surrounded with battlements, and the armory 
and barracks stand in a cleft between the two 
peaks. We passed down a green lane, around 
the rock, and entered the castle on the south side. 
A soldier conducted us through a narrow cleft, 
overhung with crags, to the summit. Here, from 
the remains of a round building, called Wallace's 
Tower, from its having been used as a look-out 
station by that chieftain, we had a beautiful 
view of the whole of Leven Vale to Loch Lo- 
mond, Ben Lomond and the Highlands, and on 
the other hand, the Clyde and the Isle of Bute. 
In the soft and still balminess of the morning, it 
was a lovely picture. In the armory, I lifted the 
sword of Wallace, a two-handed weapon, five 
feet in length. We were also shown a Lochaber 
battle-axe, from Bannockburn, and several an- 
cient claymores. 

We lingered long upon the summit before we 
forsook the stern fortress for the sweet vale 
spread out before us. It was indeed a glori- 
ous walk, from Dumbarton to Loch Lomond, 
through this enchanting valley. The air was 
mild and clear ; a few light clouds occasionally 



32 1 'IBM'S A-FOOT. 

crossing the sun, checkered the hills with sun 
and shade. I have as yet seen nothing that in 
pastoral beauty can compare with its glassy 
winding stream, its mossy old woods, and guard- 
ing hills — and the ivy-grown, castellated towers 
embosomed in its forests, or standing on the 
banks of the Leven— the purest of rivers. At a 
little village called Renton, is a monument to 
Smollett, but the inhabitants seem to neglect 
his memory, as one of the tablets on the pedes- 
tal is broken and half fallen away. Further up 
the vale a farmer showed us an old mansion in 
the midst of a group of trees on the bank of the 
Leven, which he said belonged to Smollett — or 
Roderick Random, as he called him. Two or 
three, old pear trees were still standing where 
the garden had formerly been, under which he 
was accustomed to play in his childhood. 

At the head of Leven Yale, we set off in the 
steamer " Water Witch" over the crystal waters 
of Loch Lomond, passing Inch Murrin, the deer- 
park of the Duke of Montrose, and InchCaillach, 

" where gray pines wave 

Their shadow's o'er Clan Alpine's grave." 

Under the clear sky and golden light of the de- 
clining sun, we entered the Highlands, and heard 
on every side names we had learned long ago in 
the days of Scott. Here were Glen Fruin and 
Bannochar, Ross Dhu and the pass of Beal-ma- 
na. Further still, we passed Rob Roy's rock, 
Avhere the lake is locked in by lofty mountains. 
The cone-like peak of Ben Lomond rises far 
above on the right, Ben Voirlich stands in front, 
and the jagged crest of Ben Arthur looks over 
the shoulders of the western hills. A Scotchman 
on board pointed out to us the remarkable 
places, and related many interesting legends. 
Above Inversnaid, where there is a beautiful 
waterfall, leaping over the rock and glancing 



TNVERSNATD. 33 

out from the overhanging birches, we passed 
McFarland's Island, concerning the origin of 
which name, he gave a history. A nephew of 
one of the old Earls of Lennox, the ruins of 
whose castle we saw on Inch Murrin, having 
murdered his uncle's cook in a quarrel, was 
obliged to flee for his life. Returning after many 
years, he built a castle upon this island, which 
was always after named, on account of his exile, 
Far-land. On a precipitous point above Invers- 
naid, are two caves in the rock; one near the 
water is called Hob Roy's, though the guides 
generally call it Bruce's also, to avoid trouble, 
as the real Bruce's Cave is high up the hill. It is 
so called, because Bruce hid there one night, 
from the pursuit of his enemies. It is related 
that a mountain goat, who used this probably 
for a sleeping place, entered, trod on his mantle, 
and aroused him. Thinking his enemies were 
upon him, he sprang up, and saw the silly ani- 
mal before him. In token of gratitude for this 
agreeable surprise, when he became king, a law 
was passed, declaring goats free throughout all 
Scotland — unpunishable for whatever trespass 
they might commit, and the legend further says, 
that not having been repealed, it continues in 
force at the present day. 

On the opposite shore of the lake is a large 
rock, called " Bull's Rock," having a door in the 
side, with a stairway cut through the interior to 
a pulpit on the top, from which the pastor at 
Arroquhar preaches a monthfy discourse. The 
Gaelic legend of the rock is, that it once stood 
near the summit of the mountain above, and 
was very nearly balanced on the edge of a preci- 
pice. Two wild bulls, fighting violently, dashed 
with great force against the rock, which, being 
thrown from its balance, was tumbled clown the 
side of the mountain, till it reached its present 
position. The Scot was speaking with great 
bitterness of the betrayal of Wallace, when I 



34 J'/EJVS A-FOOT. 

asked him if it was still considered an insult to 
turn a loaf of bread bottom upwards in the 
presence of a Monteith. " Indeed it is, sir," said 
he, "I have often done it myself." 

Until last Ma} 7 , travellers were taken no higher 
up the lake than Rob Roy's Cave, but another 
boat having commenced running, they can now 

fo beyond Loch Lomond, two miles up Glen 
'alloch, to the Inn of Inverarnan, thereby vis- 
iting some of the finest scenery in that part of 
the Highlands. It was ludicrous, however, to 
see the steamboat on a river scarcely wider than 
herself, in a little valley, hemmed in completely 
with lofty mountains. She went on, however, 
pushing aside the thickets which lined both 
banks, and I almost began to think she was 
going to take the shore for it, when we came to 
a place widened out for her to be turned around 
in ; here we jumped ashore in a green meadow, 
on which the cool mist was beginning to descend. 

When we arose in the morning, at 4 o'clock, to 
return with the boat, the sun was already shining 
upon the westward hills, scarcely a cloud was in 
the sky, and the air was pure and cool. To our 
great delight Ben Lomond was unshrouded, 
and we were told that a more favorable day for 
the ascent had not occurred for two months. 
We left the boat at Rowardennan, an inn at the 
southern base of Ben Lomond. After break- 
fasting on Loch Lomond trout, I stole out to the 
shore while my companions were preparing for 
the ascent, and made a hast} 7 sketch of the lake. 

We purposed descending on the northern side 
and crossing the Highlands to Loch Katrine; 
though it was represented as difficult and dan- 
gerous by the guide who wished to accompany 
us, we determined to run the risk of being en- 
veloped in a cloud on the summit, and so set out 
alone, the path appearing plain before us. We 
had no difficulty in following it up the lesser 
heights, around the base. It wound on, over 



ASCENT OF BEN LOMOND. 85 

rock and bog, among the heather and broom 
with which the mountain is covered, sometimes 
running up a steep acclivity, and then winding 
zigzag round a rocky ascent. The rains two 
days before, had made the bogs damp and 
muddy, but with this exception, we had little trou- 
ble for some time. Ben Lomond is a doubly 
formed mountain. For about three-fourths of 
the way there is a continued ascent, when it is 
suddenly terminated by a large barren plain, 
from one end of which the summit shoots up ab- 
ruptly, forming at the north side, a precipice 500 
feet high. As we approached the submit of the 
first part of the mountain, the way became very 
steep and toilsome ; but the prospect, which had 
before been only on the south side, began to open 
on the east, and we saw suddenly spread out 
below us, the vale of Menteith, with " far Loch 
Ard and Aberfoil " in the centre, and the huge 
front of Benvenue tilling up the picture. Taking 
courage from this, we hurried on. The heather had 
become stunted and dwarfish, and the ground was 
covered with short brown grass. The mountain 
sheep, which we saw looking at us from the rock 
above, had worn so many paths along the side, that 
we could not tell which to take, but pushed on in 
the direction of the summit, till thinking it must be 
near at hand, we found a mile and a half of plain 
before us, with the top of Ben Lomond at the farther 
end. The plain was full of wet moss, crossed in all 
directions by deep ravines or gullies worn in it by 
the mountain rains, and the wind swept across with 
a tempest-like force. 

I met, near the base, a young gentleman from 
Edinburgh, who had left Bowardennan before us, 
and we commenced ascending- together. It was 
hard work, but neither liked to stop, so we 
climbed up to the first resting place, and found 
the path leading along the brink of the precipice. 
We soon attained the summit, and climbing up 
2 



36 VIEWS A-FOOT. 

a little mound of earth and stones, I saw the 
half of Scotland at a glance. The clouds hung 
just above the mountain tops, which rose all 
around like the w r aves of a m ighty. sea. On every 
side— near and far — stood their misty summits, 
but Ben Lomond was the monarch of them all. 
Loch Lomond lay unrolled under my feet like a 
beautiful map, and just opposite, Loch Long- 
thrust its head from between the feet of the 
crowded hills, to catch a glimpse of the giant. 
We could see from Ben Nevis to Ayr — from Edin- 
burgh to Staffa. Stirling and Edinburgh Castles 
would have been visible, but that the clouds hung 
low in the valley of the Forth and hid them from 
our sight. 

The view from Ben Lomond is nearly twice as 
extensive as that from Catskill, being uninter- 
rupted on every side, but it wants the glorious 
forest scenery, clear, blue sky, and active, rejoic- 
ing character of the latter. We stayed about 
two hours upon the summit, taking refuge be- 
hind the cairn, w T hen the wind blew strong. I 
found the smallest of flowers under a rock, and 
brought it away as a memento. In the middle of 
the precipice there is a narrow ravine or rather 
cleft in the rock, to the bottom, from whence the 
mountain slopes regularly but steeply down to 
the valley. At the bottom we stopped to awake 
the echoes, which were repeated four times ; our 
German companion sang the Hunter's Chorus, 
which resounded magnificently through this 
Highland hall. We drank from the river Forth, 
which starts from a spring at the foot of the 
rock, and then commenced descending. This 
was also toilsome enough. The mountain was 
quite wet and covered with loose stones, which, 
dislodged by our feet, went rattling down the 
side, oftentimes to the danger of the foremost 
ones ; and when we had run or rather slid down 
the three miles, to the bottom, our knees trem- 
bled eo as scarcely to support us. 



SCENEET OF THE HIGHLANDS. 37 

Here, at a cottage on the farm of Coman, we 
procured some oat cakes and milk for dinner, 
from an old Scotch woman, who pointed out the 
direction of Lock Katrine, six miles distant; 
there was no road, nor indeed a solitary dwell- 
ing between. The hills were bare of trees, cov- 
ered with, scraggy bushes and rough heath, 
which in some places was so thick we could 
scarcely drag our feet through. Added to this, 
the ground was covered with a kind of moss 
that retained the moisture like a sponge, so 
that our boots ere long became thoroughly 
soaked. Several considerable streams were 
rushing down the side, and many of the wild 
breed of black Highland cattle were grazing 
around. After climbing up and down one or 
two heights, occasionally startling the moor- 
cock and ptarmigan from their heathery cov- 
erts, we saw the valley of Loch Con ; while in the 
middle of the plain on the top of the mountain 
we had ascended, was a sheet of water which we 
took to be Loch Ackill. Two or three wild fowl 
swimming on its surface were the only living- 
things in sight. The peaks around shut it out 
from all view of the world ; a single decayed tree 
leaned over it from a mossy rock, which gave 
the whole scene an air of the most desolate 
wildness. I forget the name of the lake ; but we 
learned afterwards that the Highlanders con- 
sider it the abode of the fairies, or "men of 
peace," and that it is still superstitiously 
shunned by them after nightfall. 

From the next mountain we saw Loch Ackill 
and Loch Katrine below, but a wet and weary 
descent had yet to be made. I was about 
throwing off my knapsack on a rock, to take a 
sketch of Loch Katrine, which appeared very 
beautiful from this point, when we discerned a 
cavalcade of ponies winding along the path 
from Inversnaid, to the head of the lake, and 
hastened down to take the boat when they 



38 VIEWS A- FOOT. 

should arrive. Our haste turned out to be un- 
necessary, however, for they had to wait for 
their luggage, which was long in coming. Two 
boatmen then offered to take us for two shit- 
lings and sixpence each, with the privilege of 
stopping at Ellen's Isle ; the regular fare being 
two shillings. We got in, when, after exchang- 
ing a few words in Gaelic, one of them called to 
the travellers, of whom there were a number, to 
come and take passage at two shillings — then 
at one and sixpence, and finally concluded by 
requesting them all to step onboard the shilling 
boat! At length, having secured nine at this 
reduced price, we pushed off; one of the passen- 
gers took the helm, and the boat glided merrily 
over the clear water. 

It appears there is some opposition among 
the boatmen this summer, which is all the better 
for travellers. They are a bold race, and still 
preserve many of the characteristics of the clan 
from which they sprung. One of ours, who had 
a chieftain-like look, was a MacGregor, related 
to Kob Roy. The fourth descendant in a direct 
line, now inhabits the Rob Roy mansion, at Glen- 
gyle, a valley at the head of the lake. A small 
steamboat was put upon Loch Katrine a short 
time ago, but the boatmen, jealous of this new 
invasion of their privilege, one night towed her 
out to the middle of the lake and there sunk her. 

Near the point of Brianchoil is a A r ery small 
island with a few trees upon it, of which the 
boatman related a story that was new to me. 
He said an eccentric individual, many years ago, 
built his house upon it — but it was soon beaten 
down by the winds and waves. Having built it 
up with like fortune several times, he at last de- 
sisted, saying, ''bought wisdom was the best;" 
since when it has been called the Island of Wis- 
dom. On the shore below, the boatman showed 
us his cottage. The whole family were out at 
the door to witness our progress ; he hoisted a 



LOCH KATRINE. 3f> 

flag, and when we came opposite, they ex- 
changed shouts in Gaelic. As our men resumed 
their oars again, we assisted in giving three 
cheers, which made the echoes of Ben venue ring 
again. Some one observed his dog, looking 
after us from a projecting rock, when he called 
out to him, " Go home, you brute! " We asked 
why he did not speak Gaelic also to the dog. 

" Yery few dogs, indeed," said he, "understand 
Gaelic, but they all understand English. And we 
therefore all use English when speaking to our 
dogs ; indeed, I know some persons, who know 
nothing of English, that speak it to their dogs ! " 

They then sang, in a rude manner, a Gaelic 
song. The only word I could distinguish Was 
Inch Caillach, the burying place of Clan Alpine. 
They told us it was the answer of a Highland 
girl to a foreign lord, who wished to make her 
his bride. Perhaps, like the American Indian, 
she would not leave the graves of her fathers. 
As we drew near the eastern end of the lake, the 
scenery became far more beautiful. The Tro- 
sachs opened before us. Ben Ledi looked down 
over the "forehead bare" of Ben An, and, as we 
turned a rocky point, Ellen's Isle rose up in 
front. It is a beautiful little turquoise in the sil- 
ver setting of Loch Katrine. The northern side 
alone is accessible, all the others being rocky 
and perpendicular, and thickly grown with trees. 
We rounded the island to the little bay, bor- 
dered by the silver strand, above which is the 
rock from which Fitz-James wound his horn, 
and shot under an ancient oak which flung its 
long grey arms over the water ; we here found a 
flight of rocky steps, leading to the top, where 
stood the bower erected by Lady Willoughby 
D'Eresby, to correspond with Scott's descrip- 
tion. Two or three blackened beams are all that 
remain of it, having been burned down some 
years ago, by the carelessness of a traveller. 

The mountains stand all around, like giants, 



40 VIEWS A- FOOT. 

to "sentinel this enchanted land." On leaving* 
the island, we saw the Goblin's Cave, in the side 
ofBenvenue, called by the Gaels, "Coirnan-Uris- 
kin." Near it is Beal-nam-bo, the pass of cattle, 
overhung with grey weeping birch trees. 

Here the boatmen stopped to let us hear the 
fine echo, and the names of •'Rob Roy," and 
"Roderick Dhu," were sent back to us appar- 
ently as loud as they were given. The descrip- 
tion of Scott is wonderfully exact, though the 
forest that feathered o'er the sides ofBenvenue, 
has since been cut down and sold by the Duke of 
Montrose. When we reached the end of the lake 
it commenced raining, and we hastened on 
through the pass of Beal-an-Duine, scarcely tak- 
ing time to glance at the scenery, till Loch 
Achray appeared through the trees, and on its 
banks the ivy-grown front of the inn of Ard- 
cheanerochan, with its unpronounceable name. 



CHAPTER IV. 

THE BURNS FESTIVAL. 

We passed a glorious summer morning on the 
bank of Loch Katrine. The air was pure, fresh 
and balmy, and the warm sunshine glowed upon 
forest and lake, upon dark crag and purple 
mountain-top. The lake was a scene in fairy- 
land. Returning over the rugged battle-plain in 
the jaws of the Trosachs, we passed the wild, 
lonely valley of Glenfmlas and Lanric Mead, at 
the head of Loch Vennachar, rounding the foot 
of Ben Ledi to Coilantogle Ford. We saw the 
desolate hills of Uam-var over which the stag 
fled from his lair in Glenartney, and keeping on 
through Callander, stopped for the night at a 



THE BURNS FESTIVAL. 41 

little inn on the banks of the Teith. The next 
day we walked through Doune, over the low- 
lands to Stirling. Crossing Allan Water and 
the Forth, we climbed Stirling Castle and looked 
on the purple peaks of the Ochill Mountains, the 
far Grampians, and the battle-fields of Bannock- 
burn and Sheriff Muir. Our German comrade, 
feeling little interest in the memory of the poet- 
ploughman, left in the steamboat for Edin- 
burgh ; we mounted an English coach and rode 
to Falkirk, where we took the cars for Glasgow 
in order to attend the Burns Festival, on the 
6th of August. 

This was a great day for Scotland — the assem- 
bling of all classes to do honor to the memory 
of her peasant-bard. And right fitting was it, 
too, that such a meeting should be held on the 
banks of the Doon, the stream of which he has 
sung so sweetly, within sight of the cot where he 
was born, the beautiful monument erected by 
his countrymen, and more than all, beside " Al- 
loway's witch-haunted wall ! " One would think 
old Albyn would rise up at the call, and that 
from the wild hunters of the northern hills to 
the shepherds of the Cheviots, half her honest 
yeomanry would be there, to render gratitude to 
the memory of the sweet bard who was one of 
them, and who gave their wants and their woes 
such eloquent utterance. 

For months before had the propositidn been 
made to hold a meeting on the JDoon, similar to 
the Shakespeare Festival on the Avon, and the 
10th of July was first appointed for the day, but 
owing to the necessity of further time for prepar- 
ation, it was postponed until the 6th of August. 
The Earl of Eglintoun was chosen Chairman, 
and Professor Wilson Vice-Chairman ; in addi- 
tion to this, all the most eminent British auth- 
ors were invited to attend. A pavilion, capable 
of containing two thousand persons, had been 
erected near the monument, in a large field, 



42 VIEWS A- FOOT. 

which was thrown open to the public. Other 
preparations were made and the meeting was 
expected to be of the most interesting character. 
When we arose it was raining, and I feared 
that the weather might dampen somewhat the 
pleasures of the day, as it had done to the cele- 
brated tournament at Eglintoun Castle. AYe 
reached the station in time for the first train, 
and sped in the face of the wind over the plains 
of Ayrshire, which, under such a gloomy sky, 
looked most desolate. We ran some distance 
along the coast, having a view of the Hills of 
Arran, and reached Ayr about nine o'clock. We 
came first to the New Bridge, which had a tri- 
umphal arch in the middle, and the lines, from 
the " Twa Brigs of Ayr " : 

" Will your poor narrow foot-path of a street, 
Where twa wheel-barrows tremble when they meet, 
4, Your ruin'd, formless bulk o' stane and lime, 

Compare wi' bonnie brigs o' modern time ? " 

While on the arch of the "old brig" was the 
reply: 

" I'll be a brig when ye're a shapeless stane." 

As we advanced into the town, the decorations 
became m ore frequent . The streets were crowded 
with people carrying banners and wreaths, many 
of the houses were adorned with green boughs 
and the vessels in the harbor hung out all their 
flags. We saw the Wallace tower, a high Gothic 
building, having in front a statue of Wallace 
leaning on his sword, by Thorn, a native of Ayr, 
and on our way to the green, where the proces- 
sion was to assemble, passed under the trium- 
phal arch thrown across the street opposite the 
inn where Tarn O'Shanter caroused so long with 
Souter Johnny. Leaving the companies to form 
on the long meadow bordering the shore, we set 
out for the Doon, three miles distant. Beggars 



SCOTCH BEGGARS. 43 

were seated at regular distances along the road, 
uttering the most dolorous winnings. Both 
bridges were decorated in the same manner, with 
miserable looking objects, keeping up, during 
the whole day, a continual lamentation. Per- 
sons are prohibited from begging in England 
and Scotland, but I suppose, this being an ex- 
traordinary day, license was given them as a 
favor, to beg free. I noticed that the women, 
with their usual kindness of heart, bestowed 
nearly all the alms which these unfortunate ob- 
jects received. The night before, as I was walk- 
ing through the streets of Glasgow, a young 
man of the poorer class, very scantily dressed, 
stepped up to me and begged me to listen to 
him for a moment. He spoke hurriedly, and agi- 
tatedly begging me, in God's name, to give him 
something, however little. I gave him what few 
pence I had with me, when he grasped my hand 
with a quick motion, saying: "Sir, you little 
think how much you have done for me." I was 
about to inquire more particularly into his 
situation, but he had disappeared among the 
crowd. 

We passed the "cairn where hunters found 
the murdered bairn," along a pleasant road to 
the Burns cottage, where it was spanned by a 
magnificent triumphal arch of evergreens and 
flowers. To the disgrace of Scotland, this neat 
little thatched cot, where Burns passed the first 
seven years of his life, is now occupied by some- 
body, who has stuck up a sign over the door, 
''licensed to retail spirits, to be drunk on the 
premises;" and accordingly the rooms were 
crowded full of people, all drinking. There was 
a fine original portrait of Burns in one room, 
and in the old fashioned kitchen we saw the re- 
cess where he was born. The hostess looked to- 
wards us as if to inquire what we would drink, 
and I hastened away — there was profanity in 
the thought. But by this time, the bell of Old 



44 VIEWS A- FOOT. 

Alloway, which still hangs in its accustomed 
place, though the walls only are left, began toll- 
ing, and we obeyed the call. The attachment of 
the people for this bell, is so great, that a short 
time ago, when it was ordered to be removed, 
the inhabitants rose en masse, and prevented it. 
The ruin, which is close by the road, stands in 
the middle of the churchyard, and the first 
thing I saw, on going in the gate, was the tomb 
of the father of Burns. I looked in the old win- 
dow, but the interior was filled Avith rank weeds, 
and overshadowed by a young tree, which had 
grown nearly to the eaves. 

The crowd was now fast gathering in the lar^e 
field, in the midst of which the pavilion was sit- 
uated. We went down by the beautiful monu- 
ment to Burns, to the "Auld Brig o' Doon," 
which was spanned by an arch of evergreens, 
containing a representation of Tarn O'Shanter 
and his gray mare, pursued by the witches. It 
had been arranged that the procession was to 
pass over the old and new bridges, and from 
thence by a temporary bridge over the hedge in- 
to the field. At this latter place a stand was 
erected for the sons of Burns, the officers of the 
day, and distinguished guests. Here was a 
beautiful specimen of English exclusiveness. 
The space adjoining the pavilion was fenced 
around, and admittance denied at first to any, 
except those who had tickets for the dinner, 
which, the price being fifteen shillings, entirely 
prevented the humble laborers, who, more than 
all, should participate on the occasion, from 
witnessing the review of the procession by the 
sons of Burns, and hearing the eloquent speeches 
of Professor Wilson and Lord Eglintoun. Thus, 
of the many thousands who were in the field, 
but a few hundred who were crowded between 
the bridge and a railing around the pavilion, 
enjoyed the interesting spectacle. By good for- 
tune, I obtained a stand, where I had an excel- 



The procession. 45 

lent view of the scene. The sons of Burns were 
in the middle of the platform, with Eglintoun on 
the right, and Wilson on their left. Mrs. Begg, 
sister of the Poet, with her daughters, stood by 
the Countess of Eglintoun. She was a plain, 
benevolent looking woman, dressed in black, 
and appearing still active and vigorous, though 
she is upwards of eighty years old. She bears 
some likeness, especially in the expression of her 
eye, to the Poet. Robert Burns, the oldest son, 
appeared to me to have a strong resemblance of 
his father, and it is said he is the only one who 
remembers his face. He has for a long time had 
an office under Government, in London. The 
others have but lately returned from a residence 
of twenty years in India. Professor Wilson ap- 
peared to enter into the spirit of the scene better 
than any of them. He snouted and waved his 
hat, and, with his fine, broad forehead, his long 
brown locks already mixed with gray, streaming 
over his shoulders, and that eagle eye glancing 
over the vast assemblage, seemed a real Chris- 
topher North, yet full of the fire and vigor of 
youth — "a gray-haired, happy boy ! " 

About half of the procession consisted of 
lodges of masons, all of whom turned out on 
the occasion, as Burns was one of the frater- 
nity. I was most interested in several com- 
panies of shepherds, from the hills, with their 
crooks and plaids; a body of archers in Lincoln 
green, with a handsome chief at their head, and 
some Highlanders in their most picturesque of 
costumes. As one of the companies, which 
carried a mammoth thistle in a box, came near 
the platform, Wilson snatched a branch, re- 
gardless of its pricks, and placed it on his coat. 
After this pageant, which could not have been 
much less than three miles long, had passed, a 
band was stationed on the platform in the 
centre of the field, around which it formed in a 
circle, and the whole company sang, " Ye Banks 



46 VIEWS A- FOOT. 

and Braes o' Bonnie Doon." Just at this time, 
a person dressed to represent Tarn O'Shanter, 
mounted on a gray mare, issued from a field 
near the Burns Monument and rode along 
towards Alloway Kirk, from which, when he ap- 
proached it, a whole legion of witches sallied 
out and commenced a hot pursuit. They 
turned back, however, at the keystone of the 
bridge, the witch with the "cutty sark" holding 
up in triumph the abstracted tail of Maggie. 
Soon after this the company entered the pa- 
vilion, and the thousands outside were enter- 
tained, as an especial favor, by the band of the 
87th Regiment, while from the many liquor 
booths around the field, they could enjoy them- 
selves in another way. 

We went up to the Monument, which was of 
more particular interest to us, from the relics 
within, but admission was denied to all. Many 
persons were collected around the gate, some of 
whom, having come from a great distance, were 
anxious to see it ; but the keeper only said, such 
were the orders and he could not disobey them . 
Among the crowd, a grandson of the original 
Tarn O'Shanter was shown to us. He was a 
raw-looking boy of nineteen or twenty, wearing 
a shepherd's cap and jacket, and muttered his 
disapprobation very decidedly, at not being 
able to visit the Monument. 

There were one or two showers during the 
day, and the sk ( y, all the time, was dark and 
lowering, which was unfavorable for the celebra- 
tion; but all were glad enough that the rain 
kept aloof till the ceremonies were nearly over. 
The speeches delivered at the dinner, which ap- 
peared in the papers next morning, are un- 
doubtedly very eloquent. I noticed in the re- 
marks of Robert Burns, in reply to Professor 
Wilson, an acknowledgment which the other 
speakers forgot. He said, "The Sons of Burns 
have grateful hearts, and to the last hour of 



BUJRNS' SONS. 4? 

their existence, they will remember the honor- 
that has been paid them this day, by the noble, 
the lovely and the talented, of their native land 
—by men of genius and kindred spirit from our 
sister land — and lastly, they owe their thanks 
to the inhabitants of the far distant west, a 
country of a great, free, and kindred people! 
(loud cheers)." In connexion with this subject, 
I saw an anecdote of the Poet, yesterday, 
which is not generally known. During his con- 
nexion with the Excise, he was one day" at a 
party, where the health of Pitt, then minister, 
was proposed, as "his master and theirs." He 
immediately turned down his glass and said, "I 
will give you the health of a far greater and 
better man — Geotige Washington!" 

We left the field early and went back through 
the muddy streets of Ayr. The street before 
the railway office was crowded, and there was 
so dense a mass of people on the steps, that it 
seemed almost impossible to get near. Seeing 
no other chance, 1 managed to take my stand 
on the lowest steps, where the pressure of the 
crowd behind and the working of the throng on 
the steps, raised me off my feet, and in about a 
quarter of an hour carried me, compressed into 
the smallest possible space, up the steps to the 
door, where the crowd burst in by fits, like 
water rushing out of a bottle. We esteemed 
ourselves fortunate in getting room to stand in 
an open car, where, after a two hours' ride 
through the wind aud pelting rain, we arrived 
at Glasgow. 



48 VIEWS A- FOOT. 



CHAPTER V. 

WALK FROM EDINBURGH OVER THE BORDER AND 
ARRIVAL AT LONDON. 

We left Glasgow on the morning after return- 
ing from the Burns Festival, taking passage in 
the open cars for Edinburgh, for six shillings. 
On leaving the depot, we plunged into the heart 
of the hill on which Glasgow Cathedral stands 
and were whisked through darkness and sulph- 
ury smoke to daylight again. The cars bore us 
past a spur of the Highlands through a beauti- 
ful country where women were at work in the 
fields, to Linlithgow, the birth-place of Queen 
Mary. The majestic ruins of its once-proud pal- 
ace, stand on a green meadow behind the town. 
In another hour we were walking through Edin- 
burgh, admiring its palace-like edifices, and stop- 
ping every few minutes to gaze up at some lofty 
monument. Really, thought I, we call Balti- 
more the " Monumental City " for its two marble 
columns, and here is Edinburgh with one at every 
street corner ! These, too, not in the midst of 
glaring red buildings, where they seem to have 
been accidentally dropped, but framed in by 
lofty granite mansions, whose long vistas make 
an appropriate background to the picture. 

We looked from Calton Hill on Salisbury 
Crags and over the Frith of Forth, then de- 
scended to dark old Hoiyrood, where the mem- 
ory of lovely Mary lingers like a stray sunbeam 
in her cold halls, and the fair, boyish face of Riz- 
zio looks down from the canvas on the armor 
of his murderer. We threaded the Canongate 
and climbed to the Castle; and finally, after a 



EDINBURGH 49 

day and a half s sojourn, buckled on our knap- 
sacks and marched out of the Northern Athens. 
In a short time the tall spire of Dalkeith ap- 
peared above the green wood, and we saw to the 
right, perched on the steep bank of the Esk, the 
picturesque cottage of Hawthornden, where 
Drummond once lived in poetic solitude. AVe 
made haste to cross the dreary waste of the 
Muirfoot hills before nightfall, from the highest 
summit of which we took a last view of Edin- 
burgh Castle and the Salisbury Crags, then blue 
in the distance. Far to the east were the hills 
of Lammermuir and the country of Mid-Lothian 
lay before us. It was all Scott-land. The Inn 
of Torsonce, beside the Gala Water, was our 
resting-place for the night. As we approached 
Galashiels the next morninp;, where the bed of 
the silver Gala is nearly emptied by a number of 
dingy manufactories, the hills opened, disclosing 
the sweet vale of the Tweed, guarded by the 
triple peak of the Eildon, at whose base lay 
nestled the village of Melrose. 

I stopped at a bookstore to purchase a view 
of the Abbey; to my surprise nearly half the 
w 7 orks were by American authors. There were 
Bryant, Longfellow, Chanuing, Emerson, Dana, 
Ware and many others. The bookseller told me 
he had sold more of Ware's Letters than any 
other book in his store, "and also," to use his 
own words, "an immense number of the great 
Dr. Channing." I have seen English editions of 
Percival, Willis, Whittier and Mrs. Sigourney, 
but Bancroft and Prescott are classed among 
the "standard British historians." 

Crossing the Gala we ascended a hill on the 
road to Selkirk, and behold ! the Tweed ran be- 
low, and opposite, in the midst of embowering 
trees planted by the hand of Scott, rose the gray 
halls of Abbottsford. We went down a lane to 
the banks of the swift stream, but finding no 
ferry, B and I, as it looked very shallow, 



50 VIEWS A FOOT. 

thought we might save a long walk by wading 

across. F preferred hunting for a boat; we 

two set out together, with our . knapsacks on 
our backs, and our boots in our hands. The 
current was ice cold and very swift, and as the 
bed was covered with loose stones, it required 
the greatest care to stand upright. Looking at 
the bottom, through the rapid water, made my 
head so giddy, I was forced to stop and shut my 
eyes; my friend, who had firmer nerves, went 
plunging on to a deeper and swifter part, where 
the strength of the current made him stagger 
very unpleasantly. I called to him to return ; 
the next thing I saw, he gave a plunge and went 
down to the shoulder in the cold flood. While 
he was struggling with a frightened expression 
of face to recover his footing, I leaned on my 
staff and laughed till I was on the point of fall- 
ing also. To crown our mortification, F 

had found a ferry a few yards higher up and was 
on the opposite shore, watching us wade back 
again, my friend with dripping clothes and 
boots full of water. I could not forgive the 
pretty Scotch damsel who rowed us across, the 
mischievous lurking smile which told that she 
too had witnessed the adventure. 

We found a foot-path on the other side, which 
led through a young forest to Abbotsford. 
Rude pieces of sculpture, taken from Melrose 
Abbey, were scattered around the gate, some 
half buried in the earth and overgrown with 
weeds. The niches in the walls were filled with 
pieces of sculpture, and an antique marble gray- 
hound reposed in the middle of the court yard. 
We rang the bell in an outer vestibule orna- 
mented with several pairs of antlers, when a 
lady appeared, who, from her appearance, I 
have no doubt was Mrs. Ormand, the "Duenna 
of Abbotsford," so humorously described by 
D'Arlincourt, in his "Three Kingdoms." She 
ushered us into the entrance hall, which has a 



MELROSE. 51 

magnificent ceiling of carved oak and is lighted 
by lofty stained windows. An effigy of a knight 
in armor stood at either end, one holding a 
huge two-handed sword found on Bosworth 
Field ; the walls were covered with helmets and 
breastplates of the olden time. 

Among the curiosities in the Armory are Na- 
poleon's pistols, the blunderbuss of Hofer, Rob 
Roy's purse and gun, and the offering box of 
Queen Mary. Through the folding doors be- 
tween the dining-room, drawing-room and li- 
brary, is a fine vista, terminated by a niche, in 
which stands Chantrey's bust of Scott. The 
ceilings are of carved Scottish oak and the 
doors of American cedar. Adjoining the library 
is his study, the walls of which are covered With 
books; the doors and windows are double, to 
render it quiet and. undisturbed. His books and 
inkstand are on the table and his writing-chair 
stands before it, as if he had left them but a mo- 
ment before. In a little closet adjoining, where 
he kept his private manuscripts, are the clothes 
he last wore, his cane and belt, to which a ham- 
mer and small axe are attached, and his sword. 
A narrow staircase led from the study to his 
sleeping room above, by which he could come 
down at night and work while his family slept. 
The silence about the place is solemn and 
breathless, as if it waited to be broken by his re- 
turning footstep. I felt an awe in treading 
these lonely halls, like that which impressed me 
before the grave of AVashington — a feeling that 
hallowed the spot, as if there yet lingered a low 
vibration of the lyre, though the minstrel had 
departed forever ! 

Plucking a wild rose that grew near the walls, 
I left Abbotsford, embosomed among the trees, 
and turned into a green lane that led down to 
Melrose. We went immediately to the Abbey, in 
the lower part of the village, near the Tweed. 
As I approached the gate, the porteress came 



52 VIEWS A -FOOT. 

out, and having scrutinized me rather sharply, 
asked my name. I told her ;— "well," she added, 
"there is a prospect here for you." Thinking- 
she alluded to the ruin, I replied : "Yes, the view 
is certainly very fine." "Oh! I don't mean 
that," she replied, "a young gentleman left a 
prospect here for you!"— whereupon she brought 
out a spy-glass, which I recognized as one that 
our German comrade had given to me. He had 
gone on and hoped to meet us at Jedburgh. 

Melrose is the finest remaining specimen of 
Gothic architecture in Scotland. Some of the 
sculptured flowers in the cloister arches are re- 
markably beautiful and delicate, and the two 
windows— the south and east oriels — are of a 
lightness and grace of execution really surpris- 
ing. We saw the tomb of Michael Scott, of 
King Alexander II, and that of the Douglas, 
marked with a sword. The heart of Bruce is 
supposed to have been buried beneath the high 
altar. The chancel is all open to the sky, and 
rooks build their nests among the wild ivy that 
climbs over the crumbling arches. One of these 
came tamely down and perched upon the hand 
of our fair guide. By a winding stair in one of 
the toAvers we mounted to the top of the arch 
and looked down on the grassy floor. I eat on 
the broken pillar, which Scott always used for a 
seat when he visited the Abbey, and read the 
disinterring of the magic book, in the " Lay of 
the Last Minstrel." I never comprehended its 
full beauty till then; the memory of Melrose 
will give it a thrilling interest, in the future. 
When we left, I was willing o say, with the Min- 
strel : 

" Was never scene so sad and fair ! " 

After seeing the home and favorite haunt of 
Scott, we felt a wish to stand by his grave, but 
we had Ancrum Moor to pass before night, and 
the Tweed was between us and Dry burgh Abbey. 



CROSSING THE CHEVIOTS. Kg 

We did not wish to try another watery adven- 
ture, and therefore walked on to the village of 
Ancrum, where a gate-keeper on the road gave 
us lodging and good fare, for a moderate price. 
Many of this class practice the double employ- 
ment, and the economical traveller, who looks 
more to comfort than luxury, will not fail to 
patronize them. 

Next morning we took a foot-path over the 
hills to Jedburgh. From the summit there was 
a lovely view of the valley of the Teviot, with 
the blue Cheviots in the distance. I thought of 
Pringle's beautiful farewell : 

" Our native land, our native vale, 
A long, a last adieu, 
Farewell to bonny Teviot-dale, 
And Cheviot's mountains blue ! " 

The poet was born in the valley below, and one 
that looks upon its beauty cannot wonder how 
his heart clung to the scenes he was leaving. 
We saw Jedburgh and its majestic old Abbey, 
and ascended the valley of the Jed towards the 
Cheviots. The hills, covered with woods of a 
richness and even gorgeous beauty of foliage, 
shut out this lovely glen completely from the 
world. I found myself continually coveting the 
loiuly dwellings that were perched on the rocky 
heights, or nestled, like a fairy pavilion, in the 
lap of a grove. These forests formerly furnished 
the wood for the celebrated Jedwood axe, used 
in the Border forays. 

As we continued ascending, the prospect be- 
hind us widened, till we reached the summit of 
the Carter Fell, whence there is a view of great 
extent and beauty. The Eildon hills, though 
twenty-five miles distant, seemed in the fore- 
ground of the picture. With a glass, Edinburgh 
Castle might be seen over the dim outline of the 
Muirfoot Hills. After crossing the border, we 
passed the scene of the encounter between Percy 



Si VIEWS A -FOOT. 

and Douglass, celebrated in "Chevy Chase," and 
at the lonely inn of Whitelee, in the valley below, 
took up our quarters for the night. 

Travellers have described the Cheviots as be- 
ing bleak and uninteresting. Although they are 
bare and brown, to me the scenery was of a 
character of beauty entirely original. They are 
not rugged and broken like the Highlands, but 
lift their round backs gracefully from the plain, 
while the more distant ranges are clad in many 
an airy hue. Willis quaintly and truly remarks, 
that travellers only tell you the picture pro- 
duced in their own brain by what they see, 
otherwise the world would be like a pawnbroker's 
shop, where each traveller wears the cast-off 
clothes of others. Therefore let no one, of a 
gloomy temperament, journeying over the Chev- 
iots in dull November, arraign me for having 
falsely praised their beauty. 

I was somewhat amused with seeing a splen- 
did carriage with footmen and outriders, cross- 
ing the mountain, the glorious landscape full in 
view, containing a richly dressed lady, fast 
asleep ! It is no uncommon thing to meet car- 
riages in the Highlands, in which the occupants 
are comfortably reading, while being whirled 
through the finest scenery. And apropos of 
this subject, my German friend related to me an 
incident. His brother was travelling on the 
Rhine, and when in the midst of the grandest 
scenery, met a carriage containing an English 
gentleman and lady, both asleep, while on the 
seat behind was stationed an artist, sketching 
away with all his might. He asked the latter 
the reason of his industry, when he answered, 
"Oh ! my lord wishes to see every night what he 
has passed during the day, and so I sketch as 
Ave go along ! " 

The hills, particularly on the English side, are 
covered with flocks of sheep, and lazy shepherds 
lay basking in the sun, among the purple 



JR OMA N H UINS IN HP. WC A S TLB. 65 

heather, with their shaggy black dogs beside 
them. On many of the hills are landmarks, by 
which, when the snow has covered all the tracks, 
they can direct their way. After walking many 
miles through green valleys, down which flowed 
the Red Water, its very name telling of the con- 
flicts which had crimsoned its tide, we came to 
the moors, and ten miles of blacker, drearier 
waste I never saw. Before entering them we 
passed the pretty little village of Otterburn, 
near the scene of the battle, f brought away a 
wild flower that grew on soil enriched by the 
blood of the Percy's. On the village inn, is their 
ancient coat of arms, a lion rampant, on a field 
of gold, with the motto, "Esperance en Dieu." 
Scarcely a house or a tree enlivened the black 
waste, and even the road was marked on each 
side by high poles, to direct the traveller in win- 
ter. We were glad when at length the green 
fields came again in sight, and the little village 
of Whelpington Knowes, with its old ivy-grown 
tower, welcomed us after the lonely walk. 

As one specimen of the intelligence of this part 
of England, we saw a board conspicuously 
posted at the commencement of a private road, 
declaring that "all persons travelling this way 
will be prosecuted" As it led to a church, how- 
ever, there may have been a design in the expres- 
sion. 

On the fifth day after leaving Edinburgh, we 
reached a hill, overlooking the valley of the 
Tyne and the German Ocean, as sunset was red- 
dening in the west. A cloud of coal-smoke made 
us aware of the vicinity of Newcastle. On the 
summit of the hill a large cattle fair was being 
held, and crowds of people were gathered in and 
around a camp of gaudily decorated tents. 
Fires were kindled here and there, and drinking, 
carousing and horse-racing were flourishing in 
full vigor. 

We set out one morning to hunt the Eoman 



56 VIEWS A- FOOT. 

Wall. Passing the fine buildings in the centre 
of the city and the lofty monument to Earl 
Grey, we went towards the western gate and 
soon came to the ruins of a building, about 
whose origin there could be no doubt. It stood 
there, blackened by the rust of ages, a remnant 
of power passed away. There was no mistaking 
the massive round tower, with its projecting or- 
naments, such as are often seen in the ruder 
works of the Komans. On each side a fragment 
of wall remained standing, and there appeared 
to be a chamber in the interior, which was 
choked up with rubbish. There is another 
tower, much higher, in a public square in 
another part of the city, a portion of which is 
fitted up as a dwelling for the family which takes 
care of it; but there was such a ridiculous con- 
trast between the ivy-grown top, and the hand- 
some modern windows and doors of the lower 
story, that it did not impress me half as much 
as the other, with all its neglect. These are the 
farthest limits of that power whose mighty 
works I hope hereafter to view at the seat of her 
grandeur and glory. 

I witnessed a scene at Newcastle that cannot 
soon be forgotten; as it showed more plainly 
than I had before an opportunity of observing, 
the state to which the laboring classes of Eng- 
land are reduced. Hearing singing in the street, 
under my window, one morning, I looked out 
and saw a body of men, apparently of the lower 
class, but decent and sober looking, who were 
singing in a rude and plaintive strain some bal- 
lad, the purport of which I could not under- 
stand. On making inquiry, I discovered it was 
part of a body of miners, who, about eighteen 
weeks before, in consequence of not being able 
to support their families with the small pittance 
allowed them, had "struck" for higher wages. 
This their employers refused to give them, and 
sent to Wales, where they obtained workmen at 



DEPARTURE FOR LONDON. 57 

the former price. The houses these laborers had 
occupied were all taken from them, and for 
eighteen weeks they had no other means of sub- 
sistence than the casual charity given them for 
singing the story of their wrongs. It made my 
blood boil to hear those tones, wrung from the 
heart of poverty by the hand of tyranny. The 
ignorance, permitted by the government, causes 
an unheard amount of misery and degradation. 
We heard afterwards in the streets, another 
company who played on musical instruments. 
Beneath the proud swell of England's martial 
airs, there sounded to my ears a tone Whose 
gathering murmur will make itself heard ere 
long by the dull ears of Power. 

At last at the appointed time, we found our- 
selves on board the "London Merchant," in the 
muddy Tyne, waiting for the tide to rise high 
enough to permit us to descend the river. There 
is great competition among the steamboats this 
summer, and the price of passage to London is 
reduced to five and ten shillings. The second 
cabin, however, is a place of tolerable comfort, 
and as the steward had promised to keep berths 
for us, we engaged passage. Following the 
windings of the narrow river, we passed Sunder- 
land and Tynemouth, where it expands into the 
German Ocean. The water was barely stirred 
by a gentle wind, and little resembled the 
stormy sea I expected to find it. We glided over 
the smooth surface, watching the blue line of 
the distant shore till dark, when I went below 
expecting to enjoy a few hours' oblivion. But 
the faithless steward had given up the promised 
berth to another, and it was only with difficulty 
that I secured a seat by the cabin table, where I 
dozed half the night with my head on my arms. 
It grew at last too close and wearisome ; I went 
up on deck and lay down on the windlass, taking- 
care to balance myself well before going to sleep. 
The earliest light of dawn awoke me to a con- 



58 VIEWS A-FOOT. 

sciousness of damp clothes and bruised limbs. 
"We were in sight of the low shore the whole day, 
sometimes seeing the dim outline of a church, or 
group of trees over the downs or flat beds of 
sand, which border the eastern coast of Eng- 
land. About dark, the red light of the Nore was 
seen, and we hoped before many hours to be in 
London. The lights of Gravesend were passed, 
but about ten o'clock, as we entered the narrow 
channel of the Thames, we struck another 
steamboat in the darkness, and were obliged to 
cast anchor for some time. "When I went on 
deck in the gray light of morning again, we were 
gliding up a narrow, muddy liver, between rows 
of gloomy buildings, with many vessels lying at 
anchor. It grew lighter, till, as we turned a 
point, right before me lay a vast crowd of ves- 
sels, and in the distance, above the wilderness of 
buildings, stood a dim, gigantic dome in the 
sky ; what a bound my heart gave at the sight ! 
And the tall pillar that stood near it — I did not 
need a second glance to recognize the Monu- 
ment. I knew the majestic bridge that spanned 
the liver above ; but on the right bank stood a 
cluster of massive buildings, crowned with many 
a turret, that attracted my eye. A crowd of 
old associations pressed bewilderingly upon the 
mind, to see standing there, grim and dark with 
many a bloody page of England's history — the 
Tower of London ! The morning sky was as yet 
but faintly obscured by the coal-smoke, and in 
the misty light of coming sunrise, all objects 
seemed grander than their wont. In spite of the 
thrilling interest of the scene, I could not help 
thinking of Byron's ludicrous but most expres- 
sive description : 



•' A mighty mass of bf Ick and smoke and shipping, 
Dirty and dusky, but as wide as eye 
Can reach ; with here and there a sail just skipping 
In sight, then lost amidst the forestry 



LONDON. 59 

Of masts ; a wilderness of steeples peeping 
On tiptoe through their sea-coal canopy ; 
A huge dun cupola, like a fool's-cap crown 
On a fool's head, — and there is London town." 



CHAPTER VI. 

SOME OF THE " SIGHTS" OF LONDON. 

In the course of time we came to anchor in 
the stream ; skiffs from the shore pulled along- 
side, and after some little quarrelling;, we were 
safely deposited in one, with a party who de- 
sired to be landed at the Tower Stairs. The 
dark walls frowned above us as we mounted 
from the water and passed into an open square 
on the outside of the moat. The laborers were 
about commencing work, the fashionable day 
having just closed, but there was still noise and 
bustle enough in the streets, particularly when 
v/e reached Whitechapel, part of the great 
thoroughfare, extending through the heart of 
London to Westminster Abbey and the Parlia- 
ment buildings. Further on, through Leaden- 
hall street and Fleet street — what a world ! 
Here come the ever-thronging, ever-rolling 
waves of life, pressing and whirling on in their 
tumultuous career. Here day and night pours 
the stream of human beings, seeming amid the 
roar and din and clatter of the passing vehi- 
cles, like the tide of some great combat. (How 
lonely it makes one to stand still and feel that 
of all the mighty throng which divides itself 
around him, not a being knows or cares for 
him! What knows he too of the thousands 
who pass him by? How many who bear the 
impress of godlike virtue, or hide beneath a 
goodly countenance a heart black with crime? 



60 VIEWS A- FOOT. 

How many fiery spirits, all glowing with hope 
for the yet unclouded future, or brooding over 
a darkened and desolate past in the agony of 
despair? There is a sublimity in this human 
Niagara that makes one look on his own race 
with something of awe.) 

We walked down the Thames, through the 
narrow streets of Wapping. Over the mouth 
of the Tunnel is a large circular building, with a 
dome to light the entrance below. Paying the 
fee of a penny, we descended by a winding stair- 
case to the bottom, which is seventy-three feet 
below the surface. The carriage-way, still un- 
finished, will extend further into the city. From 
the bottom the view of the two arches of the 
Tunnel, brilliantly lighted with gas, is very fine ; 
it has a much less heavy and gloomy appear- 
ance than I expected. As we walked along 
under the bed of the river, two or three girls at 
one end began playing on the French horn and 
bugle, and the echoes, when not too deep to con- 
fuse the melody, were remarkably beautiful. 
Between the arches of the division separating 
the two passages, are shops, occupied by ven- 
ders of fancy articles, views of the Tunnel, en- 
gravings, etc. In the middle is a small printing 
press, where a sheet containing a description of 
the whole work is printed for those who desire 
it. As I was no stranger to this art, I requested 
the boy to let me print one myself, but he had 
such a bad roller I did not succeed in getting a 
good impression. The air within is somewhat 
damp, but fresh and agreeably cool, and one 
can scarcely realize in walking along the light 
passage, that a river is rolling above his head. 
The immense solidity and compactness of the 
structure precludes the danger of accident, each 
of the sides being arched outwards, so that the 
heaviest pressure only strengthens the whole. 
It will long remain a noble monument of human 
daring and ingenuity. 



ST. PAUL'S. 61 

St. Paul's is on a scale of grandeur excelling 
everything I have yet seen. The dome seems to 
stand in the sky, as you look up to it; the dis- 
tance from which you view it, combined with the 
atmosphere of London, give it a dim, shadowy 
appearance, that perfectly startles one with ite 
immensity. The roof from which the dome 
springs is itself as high as the spires of most 
other churches— blackened for two hundred 
years with the coal-smoke of London, it stands 
like a relic of the giant architecture of the early 
world. The interior is what one would expect 
to behold, after viewing the outside. A maze of 
grand arches on every side, encompasses the 
dome, which you gaze up at, as at the sky ; and 
from every pillar and wall look down the mar- 
ble forms of the dead. There is scarcely a va- 
cant niche left in all this mighty hall, so many 
are the statues that meet one on every side. 
With the exceptions of John Howard, Sir Ashley 
Cooper and Wren, whose monument is the 
church itself, they are all to military men. I 
thought if they had all been removed except 
Howard's, it would better have suited such a 
temple, and the great soul it commemorated. 

I never was more impressed with the grandeur 
of human invention, than when ascending the 
dome. I could with difficulty conceive the means 
by which such a mighty edifice had been lifted 
into the air. That small frame of Sir Christo- 
pher Wren must have contained a mind capable 
of vast conceptions. The dome is like the sum- 
mit of a mountain; so wide is the prospect, and 
so great the pile upon which you stand. Lon- 
don lay beneath us, like an ant-hill, with the 
black insects swarming to and fro in their long 
avenues, the sound of their employments com- 
ing up like the roar of the sea. A cloud of coal- 
smoke hung over it, through which many a 
pointed spire was thrust up; sometimes the 
wind would blow it aside for a moment, and the 



62 VIEWS A- FOOT. 

thousands of red roofs would shine out clearer. 
The bridged Thames, covered with craft of all 
sizes, wound beneath us like a ringed and spot- 
ted serpent. The scene was like an immense cir- 
cular picture in the blue frame of the hills 
around. 

Continuiug our way up Fleet street, which, 
notwithstanding the gaiety of its shops and its 
constant bustle, has an antique appearance, we 
came to the Temple Bar, the western boundary 
of the ancient city. In the inside of the middle 
arch, the old gates are still standing. From this 
point we entered the new portion of the city, 
which wore an air of increasing splendor as we 
advanced. The appearance of the Strand and 
Trafalgar Square is truly magnificent. Fancy 
every house in Broadway a store, all built of 
light granite, the Park stripped of all its trees 
and paved with granite, and a lofty column in 
the centre, double the crowd and the tumult of 
business, and you will have some idea of the 
view. 

It was a relief to get into St. James's Park, 
among the trees and flowers again. Here, beau- 
tiful winding walks led around little lakes, in 
which were hundreds of water-fowl, swimming. 
Groups of merry children were sporting on the 
green lawn, enjoying their privilege of roaming 
everywhere at will, while the older bipeds were 
confined to the regular walks. At the western 
end stood Buckingham Palace, looking over the 
trees towards St. Paul's; through the grove on 
the eminence above, the towers of St. James's 
could be seen. But there was a dim building, 
with two lofty square towers, decorated with a 
profusion of pointed Gothic pinnacles, that I 
looked at with more interest than these append- 
ages of royalty. I could not linger long in its 
vicinity, but going back again by the Horse 
Guards, took the road to Westminster Abbey. 

We approached by the general entrance, 



WESTMINSTER ABBEY. 63 

Poet's Corner. I hardly stopped to look at the 
elaborate exterior of Henry Vllth's Chapel, but 
passed on to the door. On entering, the first 
thing that met my eyes were the words, "Oh 
rare Ben Jonson," under his bust. Near by 
stood the monuments of Spenser and Gay, and 
a few paces further looked down the sublime 
countenance of Milton. Never was a spot so full 
of intense interest. The light was just dim 
enough to give it a solemn, religious appear- 
ance, making the marble forms of poets and 
philosophers so shadowy and impressive, that I 
felt as if standing in their living presence. 
Every step called up some mind linked with the 
associations of my childhood. There was the 
gentle feminine countenance of Thompson, and 
the majestic head of Dryden ; Addison with his 
classic features, and Gray, full of the fire of lofty 
thought. In another chamber, I paused long be- 
fore the ashes of Shakespeare ; and while looking 
at the monument of Garrick, started, to find 
that I stood upon his grave. What a glorious 
galaxy of genius is here collected — what a con- 
stellation of stars whose light is immortal! 
The mind is completely fettered by their spirit. 
Everything is forgotten but the mighty dead, 
who still "rule us from their urns." 

The chapel of Henry VII., which we next en- 
tered, is one of the most elaborate specimens of 
Gothic workmanship in the world. If the first 
idea of the Gothic arch sprung from observing 
the forms of trees, this chapel must resemble the 
first conceptions of that order, for the fluted col- 
umns rise up like tall trees, branching out at the 
top into spreading capitals covered with leaves, 
and supporting arches of the ceiling resembling 
a leafy roof. 

.The side-chapels are filled with tombs of 
knightly families, the husband and wife lying on 
their backs on the tombs, with their hands 
clasped, while their children, about the size of 



CA VIEWS A- FOOT. 

dolls, are kneeling around. Numberless are the 
Barons and Earls and Dukes, whose grim effigies 
stare from their tombs. In opposite chapels are 
the tombs of Mary and Elizabeth, and near the 
former that of Darnley. After having visited 
many of the scenes of her life, it was with no or- 
dinary emotion that I stood by the sepulchre of 
Mary. How differently one looks upon it and 
upon that of the proud Elizabeth. 

We descended to the Chapel of Edward the 
Confessor, within the splendid shrine of which re- 
pose his ashes. Here we were shown the chair 
on which the English monarchs have been 
crowned for several hundred years. Under the 
seat is the stone brought from the Abbey of 
Scone, whereon the kings of Scotland were 
crowned. The chair is of oak, carved and 
hacked over with names, and on the bottom 
some one lias recorded his name with the fact 
chat he once slept in it. We sat down and 
rested in it without ceremony. Passing along 
an aisle leading to the grand hall, we saw the 
tomb of Aymer de Valence, a knight of the Cru- 
sades. Near here is the hall where the Knights 
of the order of Bath met. Over each seat their 
dusty banners are still hanging, each with its 
crest, and their armor is rusting upon the wall. 
It seemed like a banqueting hall of the olden 
time, where the knights had left their seats for a 
moment vacant. Entering the nave, we were 
lost in the wilderness of sculpture. Here stood 
the forms of Pitt, Fox, Burke, Sheridan and 
Watts, from the chisels of Chantry, Bacon and 
Westmacott. Further down were Sir Isaac New- 
ton and Sir Godfrey Kneller — opposite Andre, 
and Paoli, the Italian, who died here in exile. 
How can I convey an idea of the scene? Not- 
withstanding all the descriptions I had read, I 
was totally unprepared for the reality, nor could 
I have anticipated the hushed and breathless in- 
terest with which I paced the dim aisles, gazing, 



THE NATIONAL GALLERY. 65 

at every step, on the last resting* place of some 
great and familiar name. A place so sacred to 
all who inherit the English tongue, is worthy of 
a special pilgrimage across the deep. To those 
who are unable to visit it, a description may be 
interesting; but so far does it fall short of the 
scene itself, that if I thought it would induce a 
few of our wealthy idlers, or even those who, 
like myself, must travel with toil and privation 
to come hither, I would write till the pen 
dropped from my hand. 

More than twenty grand halls of the British 
Museum are devoted to antiquities, and include 
the Elgin Marbles — the spoils of the Parthenon 
— the Fellows Marbles, brought from the ancient 
city of Xanthus, and Sir William Hamilton's 
collection of Italian antiquities. It was painful 
to see the friezes of the Parthenon, broken and 
defaced as they are, in such a place. Rather let 
them moulder to dust on the ruin from which 
they were torn, shining through the blue veil of 
the Grecian atmosphere, from the summit of the 
Acropolis ! 

The National Gallery, on Trafalgar Square, is 
open four days in the week, to the public. The 
''Raising of Lazarus," by Sebastian del Piom- 
bo, is considered the gem of the collection, but 
my unschooled eyes could not view it as such. 
It* is also remarkable for having been trans- 
ferred from wood to canvas, without injury. 
This delicate operation was accomplished by 
gluing the panel on which it was painted, flat on 
a smooth table, and planing the wood gradu- 
ally away till the coat of hardened paint alone 
remained. A proper canvas was then prepared, 
covered with a strong cement, and laid on the 
back of the picture, which adhered firmly to it. 
The owner's nerves must have had a severe trial, 
if he had courage to watch the operation. I was 
enraptured with Murillo's pictures of St. John 
and the Holy Family. St. John is represented 



GG VIEWS A- FOOT. 

as a boy in the woods, fondling a lamb. It is a 
glorious head. The dark curls cluster around 
his fair brow, and his eyes seem already glowing 
with the fire of future inspiration. There is an 
innocence, a childish sweetness of expression in 
the countenance, which makes one love to gaze 
upon it. Both of these paintings were constantly 
surrounded by ladies, and they certainly de- 
served the preference. In the rooms devoted to 
English artists, there are many of the finest 
works of West, Reynolds, Hogarth and Wilkie. 

AVe spent a day in visiting the lungs of Lon- 
don, as the two grand parks have been called. 
From the Strand through the Regent Circus, the 
centre of the fashionable part of the city, we 
passed to Piccadilly, calling on our way to see 
our old friends, the Iowas. They were at the 
Egyptian Hall, in connexion with Catlin's Indian 
collection. The old braves knew us at once, par- 
ticularly Blister Feet, who used often to walk a 
line on deck with me, at sea. Further along Pic- 
cadilly is Wellington's mansion of Apsley House, 
and nearly opposite it, in the corner of Hyde 
Park, stands the colossal statue of Achilles, cast 
from cannon taken at Salamanca and Vittoria. 
The Park resembles an open common, with here 
and there a grove of trees, intersected by car- 
riage roads. It is like getting into the country 
again to be out on its broad, green field, with 
the city seen dimly around through the smoky 
atmosphere. AVe walked for a mile or two along 
the shady avenues and over the lawns, having a 
view of the princely terraces and gardens on one 
hand, and the gentle outline of Primrose Hill on 
the other. Regent's Park itself covers a space 
of nearly four hundred acres ! 

But if London is unsurpassed in splendor, it 
has also its corresponding share of crime. Not- 
withstanding the large and efficient body of po- 
lice, who do much towards the control of vice, 
one sees enough of degradation and brutality in 



FAREWELL TO L.ONDON. 67 

a short time, to make his heart sick. Even the 
public thoroughfares are thronged at night with 
characters of the lowest description, and it is 
not expedient to go through many of the nar- 
row bye-haunts of the old city in the day-time. 
The police, who are ever on the watch, immedi- 
ately seize and carry off any offender, but from 
the statements of persons who have had an 
opportunity of observing, as well as from my 
own slight experience, I am convinced that there 
is an untold amount of misery and crime. Lon- 
don is one of the wonders of the world, but there 
is reason to believe it is one of the curses of the 
world also ; though, in fact, nothing but an 
active and unceasing philanthropy can prevent 
any city from becoming so. 

Aug. 22. — I have now been six days in Lon- 
don, and by making good use of my feet and 
eyes, have managed to become familiar with 
almost every object of interest within its pre- 
cincts. Having a plan mapped out for the day, 
I started from my humble lodgings at the Aid- 
gate Coffee House, where I slept oil* fatigue for a 
shilling a night, and walked up Cheapside or 
clown Whitechapel, as the case might be, hunt- 
ing out my way to churches, halls and theatres. 
In this way, at a trifling expense, I have per- 
haps seen as much as many who spend here 
double the time and ten times the money. Our 
whole tour from Liverpool hither, by way of Ire- 
land and Scotland, cost us but twenty-five dol- 
lars each ! although, except in one or two cases, 
we denied ourselves no necessary comfort. This 
shows that the glorious privilege of looking on 
the scenes of the old world need not be confined 
to people of wealth and leisure. It may be 
enjoyed by all who can occasionally forego a 
little bodily comfort for the sake of mental and 
spiritual gain. We leave this afternoon for 
Dover. To-morrow I shall dine in Belgium ! 



68 VIEWS A FOOT. 



CHAPTER VII. 

FLIGHT THROUGH BELGIUM. 

Bruges. — On the Continent at last! How 
strangely look the century-old towers, antique 
monuments, and quaint, narrow streets of the 
Flemish cities! It is an agreeable and yet a 
painful sense of novelty to stand for the first 
time in the midst of a people whose language 
and manner is different from one's own. The 
old buildings around, linked with many a stir- 
ring association of past history, gratify the 
glowing anticipations with which one has looked 
forward to seeing them, and the fancy is busy at 
work reconciling the real scene with the ideal; 
but the want of a communication with the liv- 
ing world about, walls one up with a sense of 
loneliness he could not before have conceived. I 
envy the children in the streets of Bruges their 
childish language. 

Yesterday afternoon we came from London 
through the green wooded lawns and vales of 
England, to Dover, which we reached at sunset, 

gassing by a long tunnel through the lofty 
hakespeare Cliff. We had barely time before 
it grew dark to ascend the cliff. The glorious 
coast view looked still wilder in the gathering- 
twilight, which soon hid from our sight the dim 
hills of France. On the cliff opposite frowned 
the massive battlements of the Castle, guarding 
the town, which lay in a nook of the rocks be- 
low. As the Ostend boat was to leave at four in 
the morning, my cousin aroused us at three, and 
we felt our way down stairs in the dark. But 
the landlord was reluctant to part with us; we 



LANDING AT OS TEND. 69 

stamped and shouted and rang bells, till the 
whole house was in an uproar, for the door was 
double-locked, and the steamboat bell began to 
sound. At last he could stand it no longer; 
Ave gave a quick utterance to our overflowing 
wrath, and rushed down to the boat but a 
second or two before it left. 

The water of the Channel was smooth as glass 
and as the sun rose, the far chalky cliffs gleamed 
along the horizon, a belt of fire. I waved a 
good-bye to Old England and then turned to 
see the spires of Dunkirk, which were visible in 
the distance before us. On the low Belgian 
coast we could see trees and steeples, resembling 
a mirage over the level surface of the sea; at 
length, about ten o'clock, the square tower of 
Ostend came in sight. The boat passed into a 
long muddy basin, in which many unwieldy, red- 
sailed Dutch craft were lying, and stopped beside 
a high pier. Here amid the confusion of three 
languages, an officer came on board and took 
charge of our passports and luggage. As we 
could not get the former for two or three hours, 
we did not hurry the passing of the latter, and 
went on shore quite unincumbered, for a stroll 
about the city, disregarding the cries of the 
hackney-coachmen on the pier, "Hotel <? Angle- 
terre" "Hotel des Bains 1" and another who 
called out in English, "I recommend you to the 
Royal Hotel, sir ! " 

There is little to be seen in Ostend. We wan- 
dered through long rows of plain yellow houses, 
trying to read the French and low Dutch signs, 
and at last came out on the wall near the sea . 
A soldier motioned us back as Ave attempted to 
ascend it, and muttering some unintelligible 
Avords, pointed to a narrow street near. Fol- 
loAving this out of curiosity, Ave crossed the moat 
and found ourselves on the great bathing beach. 
To get out of the hands of the servants who 
immediately surrounded us, we jumped into one 



70 VIEWS A- FOOT. 

of the little wagons and were driven out into the 
surf. 

To be certain of fulfilling the railroad regula- 
tions, we took our seats quarter of an hour be- 
fore the time. The dark walls of Ostencl soon 
vanished and we were whirled rapidly over a 
country perfectly level, but highly fertile and 
well cultivated. Occasionally there was a ditch 
or row of trees, but otherwise there was no divis- 
ion between the fields, and the plain stretched 
unbroken away into the distance. The twenty 
miles to Bruges we made in forty minutes. The 
streets of this antique city are narrow and 
crooked, and the pointed, ornamental gables of 
the houses, produce a novel impression on one 
who has been accustomed to the green American 
forests. Then there was the endless sound of 
wooden shoes clattering over the rough pave- 
ments, and people talking in that most unmu- 
sical of all languages, low Dutch. Walking at 
random through the streets, we came by chance 
upon the Cathedral of Notre Dame. I shall long 
remember my first impression of the scene within. 
The lofty go thic ceiling arched far above my head 
and through the stained windows the light came 
but dimly — it was all still, solemn and religious. 
A few worshippers were kneeling in silence befoi e 
some of the shrines and the echo of my tread 
seemed like a profaning sound. On every side 
were pictures, saints and gilded shrines. A few 
steps removed one from the bustle and din of 
the crowd to the stillness and solemnity of the 
holy retreat. 

We learned from the guide, whom we had en- 
gaged because he spoke a few words of English, 
that there was still a treckshuyt line on the 
canals, and that one boat leaves to-night at ten 
o'clock for Ghent. Wishing to try this old Dutch 
method of travelling, he took us about half a 
mile along the Ghent road to the canal, where a 
moderate sized boat was lying. Our baggage 



CHIMES OF BRUGES. 71 

deposited in the plainly furnished cabin, I ran 
back to Bruges, although it was beginning to 
grow dark, to get a sight of the belfry; for 
Longfellow's lines had been running through my 
head all day : 

" In the market place of Bruges, stands the belfrjr old and 
brown, 
Thrice consumed and thric erebuilded, still it watches o'er 
the town." 

And having found the square, brown tower in 
one corner of the open market square, we waited 
to hear the chimes, which are said to be the 
finest in Europe. They rang out at last with a 
clear silvery tone, most beautifully musical in- 
deed. We then returned to the boat in the twi- 
light. We were to leave in about an hour, ac- 
cording to the arrangement, but as yet there 
was no sound to be heard, and we were the only 
tenants. However, trusting to Dutch regular- 
ity, we went [to sleep in the full confidence of 
awakening in Ghent. 

I awoke once in the night and saw the dark 
branches of trees passing before the window, but 
there was no perceptible sound nor motion ; the 
boat glided along like a dream, and we w k ere 
awakened next morning by its striking against 
the pier at Ghent. After paying three francs for 
the whole night journey, the captain gave us a 
guide to the railroad station, and as we had 
nearly an hour before the train left, I went to 
see the Cathedral of St. Bavon. After leaving 
Ghent the road passes through a beautiful 
country, cultivated like a garden. The Dutch 
passion for flowers is displayed in the gardens 
around the cottages ; even every vacant foot of 
ground along the railway is planted with roses 
and dahlias. At Ghent, the morning being fair, 
we took seats in the open cars. About noon it 
commenced raining and our situation was soon 
anything but comfortable. My cousin had for- 



72 VIEWS A- FOOT. 

tunately a waterproof Indian blanket with him, 
which he had purchased in the " Far West," and 
by wrapping this around all three of us, we kept 
partly dry. I was much amused at the plight 
of a party of young Englishmen, who were in 
the same car; one of them held a little parasol 
which just covered his hat, and sent the water 
in streams down on his back and shoulders. 

AVe had a misty view of Liege, through the 
torrents of rain, and then dashed away into 
the wild, mountain scenery of the Meuse. 
Steep, rocky hills, covered with pine and 
crowned with ruined towers, hemmed in the 
winding and swollen river, and the wet, cloudy 
sky seemed to rest like a canopy on their sum- 
mits. Instead of threading their mazy denies, 
we plunged directly into the mountain's heart, 
flew over the narrow valley on lofty and light- 
sprung arches, and went again into the dark- 
ness. At Yerviers, our baggage was weighed, 
examined and transferred, with ourselves, to a 
Prussian train. There was a great deal of dis- 
puting on the occasion. A lady, who had a dog- 
in a large willow basket, was not allowed to re- 
tain it, nor would they take it as baggage. 
The matter was finally compromised by their 
sending the basket, obliging her to carry the 
dog, which was none of the smallest, in her 
arms! The -next station bore the sign of the 
black eagle, and here our passports were 
obliged to be given up. Advancing through 
long ranges of wooded hills, we saw at length, 
in the dull twilight of a rainy day, the old 
kingly city of Aix la Chapelle on a plain below 
us. After a scene at the custom-house, where 
our baggage was reclaimed with tickets given 
at yerviers, we drove to the Hotel du Ehin, and 
while warming our shivering limbs and drying 
our damp garments, felt tempted to exclaim 
with the old Italian author; -"01 holy and mi- 
raculous tavern ! 



COLOGNE CATHEDRAL. 73 

"The Cathedral with its lofty Gothic tower, 
was built by the emperor Otho in the tenth cen- 
tury. It seems at present to be undergoing re- 
pairs, for a large scaffold shut out the dome. 
The long hall was dim with incense smoke as we 
entered, and the organ sounded through the 
high arches with an effect that startled me. 
The windows glowed with the forms of kings 
and saints, and the dusty and mouldering 
shrines which rose around were colored with the 
light that came through. The music pealed out 
like a triumphal march, sinking at times into a 
mournful strain, as if it celebrated and la- 
mented the heroes who slept below. In the 
stone pavement nearly under my feet was a. 
large square marble slab, with words " CarOlq 
Magno. It was like a dream, to stand there 
oh the tomb of the mighty warrior, with the 
lofty arches of the Cathedral above, filled with 
the sound of the divine anthem. I mused 
above his ashes till the music ceased and then 
left the Cathedral, that nothing might break 
the 1 romantic spell associated with that crumb T 
ling pile and the dead it covered. I have always^ 
revered the memory of Charlemagne. He liye4 
in a stern age, but he was in mind and heart a 
man, and like Napoleon, who placed the iron 
crown which had lain with him centuries in the 
tomb, upon his own brow, he had an Alpine 
grandeur of mind, which the world was forced 
to acknowledge. 

At noon we took the chars-a-banc, or second- 
class carriages, for fear of rain, and continued 
our journey over a plain dotted with villages 
and old chateaux. Two or three miles from Co- 
logne we saw the spires of the different churches, 
conspicuous among which were the unfinished 
towers of the Cathedral, with the enormous 
crane standing as it did when they left off build- 
ing, two hundred years ago or more. On arriv- 
ing, we drove to the Bonn railway, where find-; 



74 VIEWS A -FOOT. 

ing the last train did not leave for four hours, 
we left our baggage and set out for the Cathe- 
dral. Of all Gothic buildings, the plan of this 
is certainly the most stupendous ; even ruin as 
it is, it cannot fail to excite surprise and admi- 
ration. The King of Prussia has undertaken 
to complete it according to the original plan, 
which was lately found in the possession of a 
poor man, of whom it was purchased for 40,000 
florins, but he has not yet finished repairing 
what is already built. The legend concerning 
this plan may not be known to every one. It is 
related of the inventor of it, that in despair of 
finding any sufficiently great, he was walking 
one day by the river, sketching with his stick 
upon the sand, when he finally hit upon one 
which pleased him so much that he exclaimed : 
"This shall be the plan!" " I will show you a 
better one than that!" said a voice suddenly 
behind him, and a certain black gentleman who 
figures in all German legends stood by him, and 
pulled from his pocket a roll containing the 
present plan of the Cathedral. The architect, 
amazed at its grandeur, asked an explanation 
of every part. As he knew his soul was to be 
the price of it, he occupied himself while the 
devil was explaining, in committing its propor- 
tions carefully to memory. Having done this, 
he remarked that it did not please him and he 
Avould not take it. The devil, seeing through 
the cheat, exclaimed in his rage: "You may 
build your Cathedral according to this plan, 
but you shall never finish it ! " This prediction 
seems likely to be verified, for though it was 
commenced in 1248, and built for 250 years, 
only the choir and nave and one tower to half 
its original height, are finished. 

We visited the chapel of the eleven thousand 
virgins, the walls of which are full of curious 
grated cells, containing their bones, and then 
threaded the narrow streets of Cologne, which 



THE RHINE. 75 

are quite dirty enough to justify Coleridge's 
lines : 

"The river Rhine, it is well known 
Doth wash the city of Cologne ; 
But tell me nymphs, what power divine 
Shall henceforth wash the river Rhine ! " 



CHAPTER VIII. 

THE RHINE TO HEIDELBERG. 

Heidelbkrg, August 30. 

Here at last I and a most glorious place it is. 
This is our first morning in our new rooms, and 
the sun streams warmly in the eastern win- 
dows, as I write, while the old castle rises 
through the blue vapor on the side of the 
Kaiser-stuhl. The Neckar rushes on below ; and 
the Odenwald, before me, rejoices with its vine- 
yards in the morning light. The bells of the old 
chapel near us are sounding most musically, 
and a confused sound of voices and the rolling 
of vehicles comes up from the street. It is a 
place to live in ! 

I must go back five or six days and take up 
the record of our journeyings at Bonn. We had 
been looking over Murray's infallible "Hand- 
book," and observed that he recommended the 
"Star" hotel in that city, as "the most mod- 
erate in its prices of any on the Rhine ; " so when 
the train from Cologne arrived and we were sur- 
rounded, in the darkness and confusion, by por- 
ters and valets, I sung out: "Hotel de TEtoile 
d'or!" our baggage and ourselves were trans- 
ferred to a stylish omnibus, and in five minutes 
we stopped under a brilliantly-lighted archway, 
where Mr. Joseph Schmidt received us with the 



78 VIEWS AFOOT. > 

usual number of smiles and bows bestowed upon 
untitled guests. We were furnished with neat 
rooms in the summit of the house, and then de- 
scended to the salle k manger. I found a folded 
note by my plate, which I opened — it contained 
an engraving of the front of the hotel, a plan of 
the city and catalogue of its lions, together with 
a list of the titled personages who have, from 
time to time, honored the "Golden Star" with 
their custom. Among this number Avere "Their 
Royal Highnesses the Duke and Duchess of 
Cambridge, Prince Albert," etc. Had it not 
been for fatigue, I should have spent an uneasy 
night, thinking of the heavy bill which was to 
be presented on the morrow. We escaped, how- 
ever, for seven francs apiece, three of which were 
undoubtedly for the honor of breathing an aris- 
tocratic atmosphere. 

I was glad when we were really in motion on 
the swift Rhine, the next morning, and nearing 
the chain of mountains that rose up before us. 
We passed Godesberg on the right, while on our 
left was the group of the seven mountains which 
extend back from the Drachenfels to the Wolk- 
enberg, or Castle of the Clouds. Here we begin 
to enter the enchanted land. The Rhine sweeps 
around the foot of the Drachenfels, while oppo- 
site the precipitous rock of Rolandseck, crowned 
with the castle of the faithful knight, looks 
doAvn upon the beautiful Islands of Nonnen- 
weith,the white walls of the convent still gleam- 
ing through the trees, as they did when the war- 
rior's weary eyes looked upon them for the last 
time. I shall never forget the enthusiasm with 
which I saw this scene in the bright, warm sun- 
light, the rough crags softened in the haze which 
filled the atmosphere, and the wild mountains 
springing up in the midst of vineyards, and 
crowned with crumbling towers, filled with the 
memories of a thousand years. 

After passing Andernach, we saw in the dis- 



MOUNTAINS OF THE MOSELLE. 77 

tance the highlands of the middle Rhine, which 
rise above Coblentz, guarding the entrance to 
its wild scenery, and the mountains of the Mo- 
selle. They parted as we approached ; from the 
foot shot Up the spires of Coblentz, and the bat- 
tlements of Ehrenbreitstein crowning the mount- 
ain opposite, grew larger and broader. The 
air was slightly hazy, and the clouds seemed 
laboring among the distant mountains to raise 
a storm. As we came opposite the mouth of 
the Moselle and under the shadow of the mighty 
fortress, I gazed up with awe at its massive 
walls. Apart from its magnitude and almost 
impregnable situation on a perpendicular rock, 
it is filled with the recollections of history and 
hallowed by the voice of poetry. The scene went 
past like a panorama, the bridge of boats 
opened, the city glided behind us and we entered 
the highland again. 

Above Coblentz almost every mountain has a 
ruin and a legend. One feels everywhere the 
spirit of the past, and its stirring recollections 
come back upon the mind with irresistible force'. 
I sat upon the deck the whole afternoon, as 
mountains, towns and castles passed by on 
either side, watching them with a feeling of the 
most enthusiastic enjoyment. Every place was 
familiar to me in memory, and they seemed like 
friends I had long communed with in spirit and 
now met face to face. The English tourists, 
with whom the deck was covered, seemed inter- 
ested too, but in a different manner. With Mur- 
ray's Handbook Open in their hands, they sat 
and read about the very towns and towers they 
were passing, scarcely lifting their eyes to the 
real scenes, except now and then, to observe that 
it Was ' ' very nice. " 

As we passed Boppart, I sought out the Inn 
of the "Star," mentioned in "Hyperion;" there 
was a maiden sitting on the steps who might 
have been Paul Flemmino-'s fair boat-woman. 



78 VIEWS A FOOT. 

The ciouds which had here gathered among the 
hills, now came over the river, and the rain 
cleared the deck of its crowd of admiring tour- 
ists. As we were approaching Lurlei Berg, I did 
not go below; and so enjoyed some of the finest 
scenery on the Rhine alone. The mountains 
approach each other at this point, and the Lur- 
lei Rock rises up for six hundred feet from the 
water. This is the haunt of the water nymph, 
Lurlei, whose song charmed the ear of the boat- 
man while his barque was dashed to pieces on 
the rocks below. It is also celebrated for its re- 
markable echo. As we passed between the rocks, 
a guard, who has a little house built on the 
road-side, blew a flourish on his bugle, which 
was instantly answered by a blast from the 
rocky battlements of Lurlei. The German stu- 
dents have a witty trick with this echo: they 
call out, "Who is the Burgomaster of Oberwe- 
sel?" a town just above. The echo answers with 
the last syllable "Esel!" which is the German 
for ass. 

The sun came out of the cloud as we passed 
Oberwesel, with its tall round tower, and the 
light shining through the ruined arches of 
Schonberg castle, made broad bars of light and 
shade in the still misty air. A rainbow sprang 
up out of the Rhine, and lay brightly on the 
mountain side, coloring vineyard and crag, in 
the most singular beauty, while its second reflec- 
tion faintly arched like a glory above the high 
summits. In the bed of the river were the seven 
countesses of Schonberg, turned into seven 
rocks for their cruelty and hard-heartedness to- 
wards the knights whom their beauty had made 
captive. In front, at a little distance was the 
castle of Pfalz, in the middle of the river, and 
from the heights above Caub frowned the crum- 
bling citadel of Gutenfels. Imagine all this, and 
tell me if it is not a picture whose memory 
should last a life-time ! 



FRANKFORT. 79 

We came at last to Bingen, the southern gate 
of the Highlands. Here, on an island in the 
middle of the stream, is the old Mouse tower 
where Bishop Hatto of Mayence was eaten up by 
the rats for his wicked deeds. Passing Rude- 
sheim and Geissenheim, celebrated for their 
wines, at sunset, we watched the varied shore in 
the growing darkness, till like a line of stars 
across the water, we saw before us the bridge of 
Mayence. 

The next morning I parted from my friends, 
who were going to Heidelberg by way of Mann- 
heim, and set out alone for Frankfort. The 
cars passed through Hochheim, whose wines are 
celebrated all over the world; there is little to 
interest the traveller till he arrives at Frankfort, 
whose spires are seen rising from groves of trees 
as he approaches. I left the cars, unchallenged 
for my passport, greatly to my surprise, as it 
"had cost me a long walk and five shillings in 
London, to get the signature of the Frankfort 
Consul. I learned afterwards it was not at all 
necessary. Before leaving America, N. P. Willis 
had kindly given me a letter to his brother, 
Richard S. Willis, who is now cultivating a nat- 
urally fine taste for music in Frankfort, and my 
first care was to find the American Consul in or- 
der to learn his residence. I discovered at last, 
from a gentleman who spoke a little French, 
that the Consul's office was in the street Belle vue 
which street I not only looked for through the 
city, but crossed over the bridge to the suburb 
of Sachsenhausen, and traversed its narrow, 
dirty alleys three several times, but in vain. I 
was about giving up the search, when I stum- 
bled upon the office accidentally. The name of 
the street had been given to me in French and 
very naturally it was not to be found. Willis 
received me very kindly and introduced me to 
the amiable German family with whom he 
resides. 



80 VIEWS A- FOOT. 

After spending a delightful evening with my 
newly-found friends, I left the next morning in the 
omnibus for Heidelberg. We passed through 
Sachsenhausen and ascended a long hill to the 
watch-tower, whence there is a beautiful view of 
the Main A^alley. Four hours' driving over the 
monotonous plain, brought me to Darmstadt. 
The city wore a gay look, left by the recent 
fetes. The monument of the old Duke Ludwig 
had just been erected in the centre of the great 
square, and the festival attendant upon the un- 
veiling of it, which lasted three days, had just 
closed. The city was hung with garlands, and 
the square filled with the pavilions of the royal 
family and the musicians, of whom there were a 
thousand present, while everywhere were seen 
red and white flags — the colors of Darmstadt. 
We met wagons decorated with garlands, full of 
pleasant girls, in the odd dress which they have 
worn for three hundred years. 

After leaving Darmstadt we entered upon the 
Bergstrasse, or Mountain-way, leading along 
the foot of the mountain chain which extends all 
the way to Heidelberg on the left, while on the 
right stretches far away the Rhine-plain, across 
which Ave saw the dim outline of the Donners- 
berg, in France. The hills are crowned with 
castles and their sides loaded with vines ; along 
the road the rich green foliage of the walnut 
trees arched and nearly met above us. The sun 
shone warm and bright, and every body 
appeared busy and contented and happy. All 
we met had smiling countenances. In some 
places we saw whole families sitting under the 
trees shelling the nuts they had beaten down, 
while others were returning from the vineyards, 
laden with baskets of purple and white grapes. 
The scene seemed to realize all I had read of the 
happiness of the German peasantry, and the 
pastoral beauty of the German plains. 

With the passengers in the omnibus I could 



ARRIVAL A T HEIDELBERG. 81 

hold little conversation. One, who knew about 
as much French as I did, asked me where I came 
from, and I shall not soon forget his expression 
of incredulity, as I mentioned America. ' ' Why, ' ' 
said he, "you are white— the Americans are all 
black!" 

We passed the ruined castles of Auerback and 
Starkenburg, and Burg Windeck, on the summit 
of a mountain near Weinheim, formerly one of 
the royal residences of Charlemagne, and finally 
came to the Heiligenberg or Holy Mountain, 
guarding the entrance into the Odenwald by the 
valley of the Neckar. As we wound around its 
base to the river, the Kaiserstuhl rose before us, 
with the mighty castle hanging upon its side 
and Heidelberg at its feet. It was a most strik- 
ingly beautiful scene, and for a moment I felt 
inclined to assent to the remark of my bad- 
French acquaintance — "America is not beautiful 
—Heidelberg is beautiful ! " The sun had just 
set as we turned the corner of the Holy Mount- 
ain and drove up the bank of the Neckar ; all 
the chimes of Heidelberg began suddenly to ring 
and a cannon by the river-side was fired off 
every minute — the sound echoing five times 
distinctly from mountain back to mountain, 
and finally crashing far off, along the distant 
hills of the Odenwald. It was the birthday of 
the Grand Duke of Baden, and these rejoicings 
were for the closing fete. 



82 VIEWS A- FOOT. 



CHAPTER IX. 

SCENES IN AND AROUND HEIDELBERG. 

Sept. SO.— There is so much to be seen around 
this beautiful place, that I scarcely know where 
to begin a description of it. I have been wand- 
ering among the wild paths that lead up and 
down the mountain side, or away into the for- 
ests and lonely meadows in the lap of the Oden- 
wald. My mind is filled with images of the 
romantic German scenery, whose real beauty is 
beginning to displace the imaginary picture 
which I had painted with the enthusiastic words 
of Howitt. I seem to stand now upon the Kai- 
ser-stuhl, which rises above Heidelberg, with 
that magnificent landscape around me, from the 
Black Forest and Strasburg to Mainz, and from 
the Vosges in France to the hills of Spessart in 
Bavaria. What a glorious panorama! and not 
less rich in associations than in its natural 
beauty. Below me had moved the barbarian 
hordes of old, the triumphant followers of Ar- 
minius, and the Cohorts of Rome; and later, full 
many a warlike host bearing the banners of the 
red cross to the Holy Land, — many a knight re- 
turning with his vassals from the field, to la}^ at 
the feet of his ladj^-love the scarf he had worn in 
a hundred battles and claim the reward of his 
constancy and devotion. But brighter spirits 
had also toiled below. That plain had witnessed 
the presence of Luther, and a host who strove 
with him to free the world from the chains of a 
corrupt and oppressive religion. There had also 
trodden the master spirits of German song — the 
giant twain, with their scarcely less harmonious 
brethren: they, too, had gathered inspiration 



WOLFS BRUNNEN. 83 

from those scenes— more fervent worship of na- 
ture and a deeper love for their beautiful father- 
land ! Oh ! what waves of crime and bloodshed 
have swept like the waves of a deluge down the 
valley of the Rhine! War has laid his mailed 
hand on those desolate towers and ruthlessly 
torn down what time has spared, yet he could 
not mar the beauty of the shore, nor could Time 
himself hurl down the mountains that guard it. 
And what if I feel a new inspiration on behold- 
ing the scene? Now that those ages have swept 
by, like the red waves of a tide of blood, we see 
not the darkened earth, but the golden sands 
which the flood has left behind. Besides, I have 
come from a new world, where the spirit of man 
is untrammeled by the mouldering shackles of 
the past, but in its youthful and joyous freedom, 
goes on to make itself a noble memory for the 
ages that are to come ! 

Then there is the Wolfsbrunnen, which one 
reaches by a beautiful walk up the bank of the 
Neckar, to a quiet dell in the side of the mount- 
ain. Through this the roads lead up by rustic 
mills, always in motion, and orchards laden 
with ripening fruit, to the commencement of the 
forest, where a quaint stone fountain stands, 
commemorating the abode of a sorceress of the 
olden time, who was torn in pieces by a wolf. 
There is a handsome rustic inn here, where 
every Sunday afternoon a band plays in the 
portico, while hundreds of people are scattered 
around in the cool shadow of the trees, or feed- 
ing the splendid trout in the basin formed by 
the little stream. They generally return to the 
city by another walk leading along the mount- 
ain side, to the eastern terrace of the cattle, 
where they have fine views of the great Rhine 
plain, terminated by the Alsatian hills, stretch- 
ing along the western horizon like the long 
crested swells on the ocean. We can even see 
these from the windows of our room on the 



84 VIEWS A- FOOT. 

bank of the Neckar ; and I often look with in- 
terest on one sharp peak, for on its side stands 
the Castle of Trifels, where Coeur de Lion was im- 
prisoned by the Duke of Austria, and where 
Blondel, his faithful minstrel, sang the ballad 
which discovered the retreat of the noble cap- 
tive. 

The people of Heidelberg are rich in places of 
pleasure and amusement. From the Carl Platz, 
an open square at the upper end of the city, two 
paths lead directly up to the castle. By the first 
walk we ascend a, flight of steps to the western 
gate, passing through which, we enter a delight- 
ful gurden, between the outer walls of the Castle, 
and the huge moat which surrounds it. Great 
linden, oak and beach trees shadow the walk, 
and in secluded nooks, little mountain streams 
spring from the side of the wall into stone 
basins. There is a tower over the moat on the 
south side, next the mountain, where the port- 
cullis still hangs with its sharp teeth as it was 
last drawn up; on each side stand two grim 
knights guarding the entrance. In one of the 
wooded walks is an old tree brought from 
America in the year 1618. It is of the kind 
called arbor vitse, and uncommonly tall and 
slender for one of this species ; yet it does not 
seem to thrive well in a foreign soil. I noticed 
that persons had cut many slips off the lower 
branches, and I would have been tempted to do 
the same myself if there had been any I could 
reach. In the curve of 'the mountain is a hand- 
some pavilion, surrounded with beds of flowers 
and fountains ; here all classes meet together in 
the afternoon to sit with their refreshments in 
the shade, while frequently a fine band of music 
gives them their invariable recreation. All this, 
with the scenery around them, leaves nothing 
unfinished to their present enjoyment. The 
Germans enjoy life under all circumstances, and 
in this way they make themselves much hap- 



THE CASTLE. 85 

pier than we, who have far greater means of be- 
ing so. 

At the end of the terrace built for the princess 
Elizabeth, of England, is one of the round tow- 
ers, which was split in twain by the French. 
Half has fallen entirely away, and the other 
semi-circular shell which joins the terrace and 
part of the Castle buildings, clings firmly to- 
gether, although part of its foundation is gone, 
so that its outer ends actually hang in the air. 
Some idea of the strength of the castle may be 
obtained when I state that the walls of this 
tower are twenty-two feet thick, and that a 
staircase has been made through them to the 
top, where one can sit under the lindens grow- 
ing upon it, or look down from the end on the 
city below with the pleasant consciousness that 
the great mass upon which he stands is only 
prevented from crashing down with him by the 
solidit}' of its masonry. On one side, joining 
the garden, the statue of the Archduke Louis, 
in his breastplate and flowing beard, looks out 
from among the ivy. 

There is little to be seen about the Castle ex- 
cept the walls themselves. The guide conducted 
us through passages, in which were heaped 
many of the enormous cannon balls which it 
had received in sieges, to some chambers in the 
foundation. This was the oldest part of the 
Castle, built in the thirteenth century. "We also 
visited the chapel, which is in a tolerable state 
of preservation. A kind of narrow bridge crosses 
it, over which we walked, looking down on the 
empty pulpit and deserted shrines. We then 
went into the cellar to see the celebrated Tun. 
In a large vault are kept several enormous 
hogsheads, one of which is three hundred years 
old, but they are nothing in comparison with the 
tun, which itself fills a whole vault. It is as high 
as a common two-story house ; on the top is a 
platform upon which the people used to dance 



86 VISITS A-FOOT. 

after it was filled, to which one ascends by two 
flights of steps. I forgot exactly how many 
casks it holds, but I believe eight hundred. It 
has been empty for fifty years. 

We are very pleasantly situated here. My 
friends, who arrived a day before me, hired three 
rooms (with the assistance of a courier) in a 
large house on the banks of the Neckar. We 
pay for them, with attendance, thirty florins — 
about twelve dollars— a month, and Frau Dr. 
Grosch, our polite and talkative landlady, gives 
us a student's breakfast — coffee and biscuit— for 
about seven cents apiece. We are often much 
amused to hear her endeavors to make us under- 
stand. As if to convey her meaning plainer, she 
raises both thumbs and forefingers to her mouth 
and pulls out the words like a long string; her 
tongue goes so fast that it keeps my mind 
always on a painful stretch to comprehend an 

idea here and there. Dr. S , from whom we 

take lessons in German, has kindly consented to 
our dining with his family for the sake of prac- 
tice in speaking. We have taken several long- 
walks with them along the banks of the Neckar, 
but I should be puzzled to repeat any of the con- 
versations that took place. The language, how- 
ever, is fast growing more familiar, since women 
are the principal teachers. 

Opposite my window rises the Heiligenberg, 
on the other side of the Neckar. The lower part 
of it is rich with vineyards, and many cottages 
stand embosomed in shrubbery among them. 
Sometimes we see groups of maidens standing 
under the grape arbors, and every morning the 
peasant women go toiling up the steep paths 
with baskets on their heads, to labor among the 
vines. On the Neckar below us, the fishermen 
glide about in their boats, sink their square nets 
fastened to a long pole, and haul them up with 
the glittering fish, of which the stream is full. 
I often lean out of the window late at night, 



LIFE IN HEIDELBERG. 87 

when the mountains above are wrapped in 
dusky obscurity, and listen to the low, musical 
ripple of the river. It tells to my excited fancy 
a knightly legend of the old German time. Then 
comes the bell, rung for closing the inns, break- 
ing the spell with its deep clang, which vibrates 
far away on the night air, till it has roused all 
the echoes of the Odenwald. I then shut the 
window, turn into the narrow box which the 
Germans call a bed, and in a few minutes am 
wandering in America. Half way up the Heili- 
genberg runs a beautiful walk, dividing the vine- 
yards from the forest above. This is called the 
Philosopher's Way, because it was the favorite 
ramble of the old Professors of the University. 
It can be reached by a toilsome, winding path 
among the vines, called the Snake-way, and 
when one has ascended to it he is well rewarded 
by the lovely view. In the evening, when the 
sun has got behind the mountain, it is delight- 
ful to sit on the stone steps and watch the 
golden light creeping up the side of the Kaiser- 
stuhl, till at last twilight begins to darken in 
the valley and a mantle of mist gathers above 
the Neckar. 

We ascended the mountain a few days ago. 
There is a path which leads up through the for- 
est, but we took the shortest way, directly up 
the side, though it was at an angle of nearly 
fifty degrees. It was hard enough work, scram- 
bling through the thick broom and heather, and 
over stumps and stones. In one of the stone- 
heaps, I dislodged a large orange-colored sala- 
mander, seven or eight inches long. They are 
sometimes found on these mountains, as well as 
a very large kind ol lizard, called the eidechse, 
which the Germans say is perfectly harmless, 
and if one whistles or plays a pipe, will come and 
play around him. The view from the top 
reminded me of that from Catskill Mountain 
House, but is on a smaller scale. The mount- 



m VIEWS A FOOT. 

ains stretch off sideways, confining the view to 
but half the horizon, and in the middle of the 
picture the Hudson is well represented by the 
lengthened windings of the "abounding Rhine." 
Nestled at the base below us, was the little vil- 
lage of Handschuhheim, one of the oldest in this 
part of Germany. The castle of its former lords 
has nearly all fallen down, but the massive 
solidity of the walls which yet stand, proves its 
antiquity. A few years ago, a part of the outer 
walls which was remarked to have a hollow 
sound, was taken down, when there fell from a 
deep niche built therein, a skeleton, clad in a suit 
of the old German armor. We followed a road 
through the woods to the peak on which stand 
the ruins of St. Michael's chapel, which was built 
in the tenth century and inhabited for a long 
time by a sect of white monks. There is now 
but a single tower remaining, and all around is 
grown over with tall bushes and weeds. It had 
a wild and romantic look, and I sat on a rock 
and sketched at it, till it grew dark, when we got 
down the mountain the best way we could. 

We lately visited the great University Library. 
You walk through one hall after another, filled 
with books of all kinds, from the monkish 
manuscript of the middle ages, to the most ele- 
gant print of the present day. There is some- 
thing to me more impressive in a library like 
this than a solemn Cathedral. I think involun- 
tarily of the hundreds of mighty spirits who 
speak from these three hundred thousand vol- 
umes — of the toils and privations with which 
genius has ever struggled, and of his glorious 
reward. As in a church, one feels as it were, the 
presence of God ; not because the place has been 
hallowed by his worship, but because all around 
stand the inspirations of his spirit, breathed 
through the mind of genius, to men. And if 
the mortal remains of saints and heroes do not 
repose within its walls, the great and good of 



A PEASANT WEDDING. 89 

the whole earth are there, speaking their coun- 
sels to the searcher for truth, with voices whose 
last reverberation will die away only when the 
globe falls into ruin. 

A few nights ago there was a wedding of 
peasants across the river. In order to celebrate 
it particularly, the guests went to the house 
where it was given, by torchlight. The night 
was quite dark, and the bright red torches 
glowed on the surface of the Neckar, as the two 
couriers galloped along the banks to the bride- 
groom's house. Here, after much shouting and 
confusion, the procession was arranged, the two 
riders started back again with their torches, 
and the wagons containing the guests followed 
after with their flickering lights glancing on the 
water, till they disappeared around the foot of 
the mountain. The choosing of Conscripts also 
took place lately. The law requires one person 
out of every hundred to become a soldier, and 
this, in the city of Heidelberg, amounts to 
nearly 150. It was a sad spectacle. The young 
men, or rather boys, who were chosen, went 
about the city with cockades fastened on their 
hats, shouting and singing, many of them quite 
intoxicated. I could not help pitying them be- 
cause of the dismal, mechanical life they are 
doomed to follow. Many were rough, ignorant 
peasants, to whom nea,rly any kind of life would 
be agreeable; but there were some whose coun- 
tenances spoke otherwise, and I thought invol- 
untarily, that their drunken gaiety was only 
affected to conceal their real feelings with regard 
to the lot which had fallen upon them. 

We are gradually becoming accustomed to 
the German style of living, which is very differ- 
ent from our own. Their cookery is new to us, 
but is, nevertheless, good. We have every day 
a' different kind of soup, so I have supposed 
they keep a regular list of three hundred and 
sixty-five, one for every day in the year ! Then 



90 VIEWS A -FOOT. 

we have potatoes "done up "in oil and vinegar, 
veal flavored with orange peel, barley pudding, 
and all sorts of pancakes, boiled artichokes, 
and always rye bread, in loaves a yard long! 
Nevertheless, we thrive on such diet, and I have 
rarely enjoyed more sound and refreshing sleep 
than in their narrow and coffin-like beds, un- 
comfortable as they seem. Many of the Ger- 
man customs are amusing. We never see oxen 
working here, but always cows, sometimes a 
single one in a cart, and sometimes two fastened 
together by a yoke across their horns. The 
women labor constantly in the fields ; from our 
window we can hear the nut-brown maidens 
singing their cheerful songs among the vine- 
yards on the mountain side. Their costume, 
too, is odd enough. Below the tight-fitting 
vest they wear such a number of short skirts, 
one above another, that it reminds one of an 
animated hogshead, with a head and shoulders 
starting out from the top. I have heard it 
gravely asserted that the wealth of a German 
damsel may be known by counting the number 
of her "kirtles." An acquaintance of mine re- 
marked, that it would be an excellent costume 
for falling down a precipice ! 

We have just returned from a second visit to 
Frankfort, where the great annual fair filled the 
streets with noise and bustle. On our way 
back, we stopped at the village of Zwingenberg, 
which lies at the foot of the Melibochus, for the 
purpose of visiting some of the scenery of the 
Odenwald. Passing the night at the inn there, 
we slept with one bed under and two above, and 
started early in the morning to climb up the 
side of the Melibochus. After a long walk 
through the forests, which were beginning to 
change their summer foliage for a brighter gar- 
ment, we reached the summit and ascended the 
stone tower which stands upon it. This view 
gives one a better idea of the Odenwald, than 



SCENE RT OF THE ODENWALD. 91 

that from the Kaiser-stuhl at Heidelberg. In 
the soft autumn atmosphere it looked even 
more beautiful. After an hour in that heaven 
of uplifted thought, into which we step from the 
mountain-top, our minds went with the path 
downward to earth, and we descended the 
eastern side into the wild region which contains 
the Felsenmeer, or Sea of Rocks. 

We met on the way a student from Fulda — a 
fine specimen of that free-spirited class, and a 
man whose smothered aspiration was betrayed 
in the flashing of his eye, as he spoke of the 
present painful and oppressed condition of Ger- 
many. We talked so busily together that with- 
out noticing the path, which had been bringing 
us on, up hill and down, through forest and over 
rock, we came at last to a halt in a valley 
among the mountains. Making inquiries there, 
we found we had done wrong, and must ascend 
by a different path the mountain we had just 
come down. Near the summit of this, in a wild 
pine wood, was the Felsenmeer — a great collec- 
tion of rocks heaped together like pebbles on the 
sea shore, and worn and rounded as if by the 
action of water: so much do they resemble 
waves, that one standing at the bottom and 
looking up, cannot resist the idea, that they will 
flow down upon him. It must have been a 
mighty tide whose receding waves left these 
masses piled up together ! The same formation 
continues at intervals, to the foot of the mount- 
ains. It reminded me of a glacier of rocks in- 
stead of ice. A little higher up, lies a massive 
block of granite called the "Giant's Column." 
Ifc is thirty-two feet long and three to four feet 
in diameter, and still bears the mark of the 
chisel. When or by whom it was made, remains 
a mystery. Some have supposed it was in- 
tended to be erected for the worship of the Sun, 
by the wild Teutonic tribes who inhabited this 
forest ; it is more probably the work of the Ro- 



92 VIEWS A- FOOT. 

mans. A project was once started, to erect it as 
a monument on the battle-field of Leipsic, but it 
was found too difficult to carry into execution. 
After dining at the little village of Reichels- 
dorf in the valley below, where the merry land- 
lord charged my friend two kreutzers less than 
myself because he was not so tall, we visited the 
Castle of Sehonberg, and joined the Bergstrasse 
again. We walked the rest of the way here; 
long before we arrived, the moon shone down on 
us over the mountains, and when we turned 
around the foot of the Heiligenberg, the mist de- 
scending in the valley of the Neckar, rested like 
a> light cloud on the church spires. 



CHAPTER X. 

A WALK THROUGH THE ODENWALD. 

B and I are now comfortably settled in 

Frankfort, having, with Mr. Willis's kind assist- 
ance, obtained lodgings with the amiable family, 
with whom he has resided for more than two 
years. My cousin remains in Heidelberg to at- 
tend the winter course of lectures at the I Jni ver- 
sify. 

Having forwarded our baggage by the omni- 
bus, we came hither on foot, through the heart 
of the Odenwald, a region full of interest, yet lit- 
tle visited by travellers. Dr. S and his fam- 
ily walked with us three or four miles of the 
way, and on a hill above Ziegelhausen, with a 
splendid view behind us, through the mountain- 
door, out of which the Neckar enters on the 
Rhine-plain, we parted. This was a first, and I 
must confess, a somewhat embarrassing experi- 



ENTERING THE ODENWALD. 93 

ence in German leave-taking. After bidding 
adieu three or four times, we started to go up 
the mountain and they down it, but at every 
second step we had to turn around to acknowl- 
edge the waving of hands and handkerchiefs, 
which continued so long that I was glad when 
we were out of sight of each other. We de- 
scended on the other side into a wild and ro- 
mantic valley, whose meadows were of the 
brightest green; a little brook which wound 
through them, put now and then its "silvery 
shoulder" to the wheel of a rustic mill. By 
the road-side two or three wild-looking gipsies 
sat around a fire, with some goats feeding near 
them. 

Passing through this valley and the little vil- 
lage of Schonau, we commenced ascending one 
of the loftiest ranges of the Odenwald. The side 
of the mountain was covered with a thick pine 
forest. There was no wind to wake its solemn 
anthem; all was calm and majestic, and even 
awful. The trees rose all around like the pillars 
of a vast Cathedral, whose long arched aisles 
vanished far below in the deepening gloom. 

" Nature with folded hands seemed there, 
Kneeling at her evening prayer," 

for twilight had already begun to gather. We 
went on and up and even higher, like the youth 
in "Excelsior;" the beech and dwarf oak took 
the place of the pine, and at last we arrived at 
a cleared summit whose long brown grass waved 
desolately in the dim light of evening. A faint 
glow still lingered over the forest-hills, but down 
in the valley the dusky shades hid every vestige 
of life, though its sounds came up softened 
through the long space. When we reached the 
top a bright planet stood like a diamond over 
the brow of the eastern hill, and the sound of a 
twilight bell came up clearly and sonorously on 



U VIEWS A-FOOT. 

the cool damp air. The white veil of mist slowly 
descended down the mountain side, but the 
peaks rose above it like the wrecks of a world, 
floating in space. We made our way in the dusk 
down the long path, to the rude little dorf of 
Elsbach. I asked at the first inn for lodging, 
where we were ushered into a great room, in 
which a number of girls who had been at work 
in the fields, were assembled. They were all 
dressed in men's jackets, and short gowns, and 
some had their hair streaming down their back. 
The landlord's daughter, however, was a beauti- 
ful girl, whose modest, delicate features con- 
trasted greatly with the coarse faces of the 
others. I thought of Uhland's beautiful little 
poem of "The Landlady's Daughter," as I 
looked on her. In the room hung two or three 
pair of antlers, and they told us deer were still 
plenty in the forests. 

When we left the village the next morning, we 
again commenced ascending. Over the whole 
valley and half way up the mountain, lay a 
thick white frost, almost like snow, Avhich con- 
trasted with the green trees and bushes scattered 
over the meadows, produced the most singular 
effect. We plucked blackberries ready iced from 
the bushes by the road-side, and went on in the 
cold, for the sun shone only on the top of the 
opposite mountain, into another valley, down 
which rushed the rapid Ulver. At a little village 
which bears the beautiful name Anteschonmat- 
tenwag, we took a foot-path directly over a 
steep mountain to the village of Finkenbach. 
Near the top I found two wild-looking children, 
cutting grass with knives, both of whom I pre- 
vailed upon for a few kreutzers to stand and let 
me sketch them. From the summit the view on 
the other side was very striking. The hills were 
nearly every one covered with wood, and not a 
dwelling in sight. It reminded me of our forest 
scenery at home, The principal difference is, 



CASTLE OF ERBACH. 03 

that our trees are two or three times the size of 
theirs. 

At length, after scaling another mountain, we 
reached a wide, elevated plain, in the middle of 
which stood the old dorf of Beerfelden. It 
was then crowded with people, on account 
of a great cattle fair being held there. All the 
farmers of the neighborhood were assembled, 
clad in the ancient country costume — broad 
cocked hats and blue frocks. An orchard near 
the town was filled with cattle and horses, and 
near by, in the shade, a number of pedlars had 
arranged their wares. The cheerful looking 
country people touched their hats to us as we 
passed. This custom of greeting travellers, 
universal in Germany, is very expressive of their 
social, friendly manners. Among the mount- 
ains, we frequently met groups of children, who 
sang together their simple ballads as we passed 

by. 

From Beerfelden we passed down the valley of 
bhe Mimling to Erbach, the principal city Li the 
Odenvvald, and there stopped a short time to 
view the Rittersaal in the old family castle of the 
Counts of Erbach. An officer, who stood at the 
gates, conducted us to the door, where we 
were received by a noble-looking, gray-headed 
steward. He took us into the Rittersaal at 
once, which was like stepping back three hundred 
years. The stained windows of the lofty Gothic 
hall, let in a subdued light which fell on the 
forms of kings and knights, clad in the armor 
they wore during life. On the left as we entered, 
were mail-covered figures of John and Cosmo de 
Medici; further on stood the Emperor Maxi- 
milian, and by his side the celebrated dwarf who 
was served up in a pie at one of the imperial 
feasts. His armor was most delicate and beau- 
tiful, but small as it was, General Thumb would 
have had room in it. Gustavus Adolphus and 
Wallenstein looked down from the neighboring 



96 VIEWS A- FOOT. 

pedestals, while at the other end stood Goetz 
von Berlichingen and Albert of Brunswick. 
Guarding the door were Hans, the robber-knight 
of Nuremberg, and another from the Thuringian 
forest. The steward told me that the iron hand 
of Goetz was in possession of the family, but not 
shown to strangers; he pointed out, however, 
the buckles on the armor, by which it was fast- 
ened. Adjoining the hall is an antique chapel, 
filled with rude old tombs, and containing the 
sarcophagus of Count Eginhard of Denmark, 
who lived, about the tenth century. There were 
also monkish garments five hundred years old 
hanging up in it. 

The collection of antiquities is large and in- 
teresting; but it is said that the old Count 
obtained some of them in rather a questionable 
manner. Among other incidents they say that 
when in Rome he visited the Pope, taking with 
him an old servant who accompanied him in all 
his travels, and was his accomplice in most of 
his antiquarian thefts. In one of the outer halls, 
among the curiosities, was an antique shield of 
great value. The servant was left in the hall 
while the Count had his audience, and in a short 
time this shield was missed. The servant who 
wore a long cloak, was missed also ; orders were 
given to close the gates and search every body, 
but it was too late — the thief was gone. 

Leaving Erbach, we found out the direction 
of Snellert, the Castle of the Wild Huntsman, and 
took a road that led us for two or three hours 
along the top of a mountain ridge. Through 
the openings in the pine and larch forests, 
we had glimpses of the hills of Spessart, beyond 
the Main. When we finally left the by-road we 
had chosen it was quite dark, and we missed the 
way altogether among the lanes and meadows. 
We came at last to a full stop at the house of a 
farmer, who guided us by a foot-path over the 
fields to a small village. On entering the only 



GERMAN- EMIGRANTS. 97 

inn, kept by the Burgomaster, the people finding 
we were Americans, regarded us with a curiosity 
quite uncomfortable. They crowded around the 
floor, watching every motion, and gazed in 
through the windows. The wild huntsman him- 
self could scarcely have made a greater sensa- 
tion. The news of our arrival seemed to have 
spread very fast, for the next morning when we 
stopped at a prune orchard some distance from 
the village to buy some fruit, the farmer cried 
out from a tree, "they are the Americans; give 
them as many as they want for nothing! " 

With the Burgomaster's little son for a guide, 
we went back a mile or two of our route to 
Snellert, which we had passed the night before, 
and after losing ourselves two or three times in 
the woods, arrived at last at the top of the 
mountain, where the ruins of the castle stand. 
The walls are nearly level with the ground. The 
interest of a visit rests entirely on the romantic 
legend, and the wild view over the hills around, 
particularly that in front, where on the opposite 
mountain are the ruins of Rodenstein, to which 
the wild Huntsman was wont to ride at mid- 
night — Avhere he now rides no more. The echoes 
of Rodenstein are no longer awakened by the 
sound of his bugle, and the hoofs of his demon 
steed clanging on the battlements. But the 
hills around are wild enough, and the roar of 
the pine forests deep enough to have inspired the 
simple peasants with the romantic tradition. 

Stopping for dinner at the town of Rhein- 
heim, we met an old man, who, on learning we 
were Americans, walked with us as far as the next 
village. He had a daughter in America and was 
highly gratified to meet any one from the coun- 
try of her adoption. He made me promise to 
visit her, if I ever should go to St. Louis, and 
say that 1 had walked with her father from 
Rheinheim to Zwangenburg. To satisfy his fears 
that. I might forget it, I took down his name 



98 r/EIVS A -FOOT. 

and that of his daughter. He shook me warmly 
by the hand at parting, and was evidently made 
happier for that day. 

We reached Darmstadt just in time to take a 
seat in the omnibus for Frankfort. Among the 
passengers were a Bavarian family, on their 
way to Bremen, to ship from thence to Texas. 
I endeavored to discourage the man from choos- 
ing such a country as his home, by telling him 
of its heats and pestilences, but he was too full 
of hope to be shaken in his purpose. I would 
have added that it was a slave-land, but I 
thought on our own country's curse, and was 
silent. The wife was not so sanguine; she 
seemed to mourn in secret at leaving her beauti- 
ful fatherland. It was saddening to think how 
lonely they would feel in that far home, and 
how they would long, with true German devo- 
tion, to look again on the green vintage-hills of 
their forsaken country. As night drew on, the 
little girl crept over to her father for his accus- 
tomed evening kiss, and then sank back to sleep 
in a corner of the wagon. The boy, in the art- 
less confidence of childhood, laid his head on my 
breast, weary with the day's travel, and soon 
slept also. Thus we drove on in the dark, till 
at length the lights of Frankfort glimmered on 
the breast of the rapid Main, as we passed over 
the bridge, and when we stopped near the Cathe- 
dral, I delivered up my little charge and sent 
my sympathy with the wanderers on their 
lonely way. 



FRANKFORT. U 



CHAPTER XI. 

SCENES IN FRANKFORT — AN AMERICAN COMPOSER— 
THE POET FREILIGRATH. 

Bee. 4.— This is a genuine old German city. 
Founded by Charlemagne, afterwards a rallying 
point of the Crusaders, and for a long time the 
capital of the German empire, it has no lack of 
interesting historical recollections, and notwith- 
standing it is fast becoming modernized, one is 
everywhere reminded of the Past. The Cathe- 
dral, old as the days of Peter the Hermit, the 
grotesque street of the Jews, the many quaint, 
antiquated dwellings and the moulderingwatch- 
towers on the hills around, give it a more inter- 
esting character than any German city I have 
yet seen. The house we dwell in, on the Markt 
Platz, is more than two hundred years old; 
directly opposite is a great castellated building, 
gloomy with the weight of six centuries, and a 
few steps to the left brings me to the square 
of the Rcemerberg, where the Emperors were 
crowned, in the corner of which is a curiously 
ornamented house, formerly the residence of 
Luther. There are legends innumerable con- 
nected with all these buildings, and even yet 
discoveries are frequently made in old houses, 
of secret chambers and staircases. When you 
add to all this, the German love of ghost stories, 
and, indeed, their general belief in spirits, the 
lover of romance could not desire a more agree- 
able residence. 

I often look out on the singular scene below 
my window. Om both sides of the street^ leaving 
4 



100 VIEWS A- FOOT. 

barely room to enter the houses, sit the market 
women, with their baskets of vegetables and 
fruit. The middle of the street is filled with , 
women buying, and every cart or carriage that 
comes along, has to force its way through the 
crowd, sometimes rolling against and overturn- 
ing the baskets on the side, when for a few min- 
utes there is a Babel of unintelligible sounds. 
The country women in their jackets and short 
gowns go backwards and forwards with great 
loads on their heads, sometimes nearly as high 
as themselves. It is a most singular scene, and 
so varied that one never tires of looking upon it. 
These women sit here from sunrise till sunset, 
day after day, for years. They have little fur- 
naces for cooking and for warmth in winter, and 
when it rains they sit in large wooden boxes. 
One or two policemen are generally on the 
ground in the morning to prevent disputing 
about their places, which often gives rise to 
interesting scenes. Perhaps this kind of life in 
the open air is conducive to longevity ; for cer- 
tainly there is no country on earth that has as 
many old women. Many of them look like walk- 
ing machines made of leather; and to judge 
from what I see in the streets here, I should 
think they work till they die. 

On the 21st of October a most interesting fete 
took place. The magnificent monument of 
Goethe, modelled by the sculptor Schwanthaler, 
at Munich, and cast in bronze, was unveiled. It 
arrived a few days before, and was received with 
much ceremony and erected in the destined spot, 
an open square in the western part of the city, 
planted with acacia trees. I went there at ten 
o'clock, and found the square already full of 
people. Seats had been erected around the mon- 
ument for ladies, the singers and musicians. A 
company of soldiers was stationed to keep an 
entrance for the procession, which at length 
arrived with music and banners, and entered the 



A GERMAN CITT. 101 

enclosure. A song for the occasion was sung by 
the choir ; it swelled up gradually, and with euch 
perfect harmony and unity, that it seemed like 
some glorious instrument touched by a single 
hand. Then a poetical address was delivered; 
after which four young men took their stand at 
the corners of the monument; the drums and 
trumpets gave a flourish, and the mantle fell. 
The noble figure seemed to rise out of the earth, 
and thus amid shoutings and the triumphal peal 
of the band, the form of Goethe greeted the city 
of his birth. He is represented as leaning on the 
trunk of a tree, holding in his right hand a roll 
of parchment, and in his left a wreath. The 
pedestal, which is also of bronze, contains bas 
reliefs, representing scenes from Faust, Wilhelm, 
Meister and Egmont. In the evening Goethe's 
house, in a street near, was illuminated by 
arches of lamps between the windows and hung 
with wreaths of flowers. Four pillars of colored 
lamps lighted the statue. At nine o'clock the 
choir of singers came again in a procession, with 
colored lanterns, on poles, and after singing two 
or three songs, the statue was exhibited in the 
red glare of the Bengal light. The trees and 
houses around the square were covered with the 
glow, which streamed in broad sheets up against 
the dark sky. 

Within the walls the greater part of Frank- 
fort is built in the old German style — the houses 
six or seven stories high, and every story pro- 
jecting out over the other, so that those living 
in the upper part can nearly shake hands out of 
the windows. At the corners figures of men are 
often seen, holding up the story above on their 
shoulders and making horrible faces at the 
weight. When I state that in all these narrow 
streets which constitute the greater part of the 
city, there are no sidewalks, the windows of the 
lower stories with an iron grating" extending a 
foot or so into the street, which is only vide 



102 VIEWS A- FOOT. 

enough for one cart to pass along, you can have 
some idea of the facility of walking through 
them, to say nothing of the piles of wood, and 
market-women with baskets of vegetables which 
one is continually stumbling over. Even in the 
wider streets, I have always to look before and 
behind to keep out of the way of the fiacres; the 
people here get so accustomed to it, that they 
leave barely room for them to pass, and the car- 
riages go dashing by at a nearness which some- 
times makes me shudder. 

As I walked across the Main, and looked down 
at the swift stream on its way from the distant 
Thuringian forest to join the Rhine, I thought 
of the time when Schiller stood there in the days 
of his early struggles, an exile from his native 
land, and looking over the bridge, said in the 
loneliness of his heart, "That water flows-not so 
deep as my sufferings!" In the middle on an 
iron ornament, stands the golden cock at which 
Goethe used to marvel when a boy. Perhaps you 
have not heard the legend connected with this. 
The bridge was built several hundred years ago, 
with such strength and solidity that it will 
stand many hundred yet. The architect had 
contracted to build it within a certain time, but 
as it drew near, without any prospect of fulfil- 
ment, the devil appeared to him and promised 
to finish it, on condition of having the first soul 
that passed over it. This was agreed upon and 
the devil performed his part of the bargain. 
The artist, however, on the day appointed, 
drove a cock across before he suffered anyone 
to pass over it. His majesty stationed himself 
under the middle arch of the bridge, awaiting his 
prey ; but enraged at the cheat, he tore the un- 
fortunate fowl in pieces and broke two holes in 
the arch, saying they should never be built up 
again. The golden cock was erected on the 
bridge as a token bf the event, but the devil has 
perhaps lost some of his power in these latter 



MUSIC. 163 

days, for the holes were filled up about thirty 
years ago. 

From the hills on the Darmstadt road, I had 
a view of the country around — the fields were 
white and bare, and the dark Tanuus, with the 
broad patches of snow ou his sides, looked grim 
and shadowy through the dim atmosphere. It 
was like the landscape of a dream — dark, 
strauge and silent. The whole of last month we 
saw the sun but two or three days," the sky be- 
ing almost continually covered with a gloomy 
fog. England and Germany seem to have ex- 
changed climates this year, for in the former 
country we had delightfully clear weather. 

I have seen the banker Kothschild several 
times driving about the city. This one — 
Anselmo, the most celebrated of the brothers — 
holds a mortgage on the city of Jerusalem. He 
rides about in style, with officers attending his 
carriage. He is a little bald-headed man, with 
marked Jewish features, and is said not to 
deceive his looks. At any rate, his reputation 
is none of the best, either with Jews or Chris- 
tians. A caricature was published some time 
ago, in which he is represented as giving a beg- 
gar woman by the wayside, a kreutzer — the 
smallest German coin. She is made to exclaim, 
"God reward you, a thousand fold!" He im- 
mediately replies, after reckoning up in his head: 
"How much have I then? — sixteen florins and 
forty kreutzers ! " 

I have lately heard one of the most perfectly 
beautiful creations that ever emanated from the 
soul of genius — the opera of Fidelio. I have 
caught faint glimpses of that rich world of fancy 
and feeling, to which music is the golden door. 
Surrendering myself to the grasp of Beethoven's 
powerful conception, I read in sounds far more 
expressive than words, the almost despairing 
agony of the strong-hearted, but still tender 
and womanly Fidelio — the ecstatic joy of the 



lOi VTE1VS A -FOOT. 

wasted prisoner, when he rose from his hard 
couch in the dungeon, seeming to feel, in his 
maniac brain, the presentiment of a bright be- 
ing who would come to unbind his chains — and 
the sobbing and wailing, almost human, which 
came from the orchestra, when they dug his 
grave, by the dim lantern's light. When it was 
done, the murderer stole into the dungeon, to 
gloat on the agonies of his victim, ere he gave 
the death-blow. Then, while the prisoner is 
waked to reason by that sight, and Fidelio 
throws herself before the uplifted dagger, rescu- 
ing her husband with the courage which love 
gives to a woman's heart, the storm of feeling 
which has been gathering in the music, swells 
to a height beyond which it seemed impossible 
for the soul to pass. My nerves were thrilled 
till 1 could bear no more. A mist seemed to 
come before my eyes and I scarcely knew what 
followed, till the rescued kneeled together and 
poured forth in the closing hymn the painful 
fullness of their joy. I dreaded the sound of 
voices after the close, and the walk home amid 
the harsh rattling of vehicles on the rough 
streets. For days afterwards my brain was 
filled with a mingled and confused sense of 
melody, like the half-remembered music of a 
dream. 

Why should such magnificent creations of art 
be denied the new world ? There is certainly en- 
thusiasm and refined feeling enough at home to 
appreciate them, were the proper direction given 
to the popular taste. What country posseses 
more advantages to foster the growth of such an 
art, than ours? Why should not the composer 
gain mighty conceptions from the grandeur of 
our mountain scenery, from the howling of the 
storm through our giant forests, from the eter- 
nal thunder of Niagara? All these collateral in- 
fluences, which more or less tend to the develop- 
ment and expansion of genius, are characteris- 



RICHARD S. WTLLIS. 105 

tics of our country; and a taste for musical 
compositions of a refined and lofty character, 
would soon give birth to creators. 

Fortunately for our country, this missing star 
in the crown of her growing glory, will probably 
soon be replaced. Richard S. Willis, with whom 
we have lived in delightful companionship, since • 
coming here, has been for more than two years 
studying and preparing himself for the higher 
branches of composition. The musical talent he 
displayed while at college, and the success fol- 
lowing the publication of a set of beautiful 
waltzes he there composed, led him to choose 
this most difficult but lofty path ; the result jus- 
tifies his early promise and gives the most san- 
guine anticipations for the future. He studied 
the first two years here under Schnyder von 
Wartensee, a distinguished Swiss composer; 
and his exercises have met with the warmest ap- 
proval from Mendelsohn, at present the first Ger- 
man composer, and Einck, the celebrated or- 
ganist. The enormous labor and application 
required to go through the preparatory studies 
alone, would make it seem almost impossible 
for one with the restless energy of the American 
character, to undertake it; but as this very 
energy gives genius its greatest power, we may 
now trust with confidence that Willis, since he 
has nearly completed his studies, will win him- 
self and his country honor in the difficult path 
he has chosen. 

One evening, after sunset, we took a stroll 
around the promenades. The swans were still 
floating on the little lake, and the American 
poplar beside it, was in its full autumn livery. 
As we made the circuit of the walks, guns were 
tiring far and near, celebrating the opening of 
the vintage the next day, and rockets went glit- 
tering and sparkling up into the dark air. 
Notwithstanding the late hour and lowering 
sky, the walks were full of people, and we strolled 



106 Views A-fooT. 

about with them till it grew quite dark, watch- 
ing the fire-works which arose from the gardens 
around. 

The next day, we went into the Frankfort 
wood. Willis and his brother-in-law, Charles F. 
Dennett, of Boston, Dr. Dix and. another you^g 
gentleman from the same city, formed the party 
— six Americans in all ; we walked over the Main 
and through the dirty suburbs of Sachsenhau- 
sen, where we met many peasants laden with the 
first day's vintage, and crowds of people coming 
down from the vineyards. As we ascended the 
hill, the sound of firing was heard in every di- 
rection, and from many vineyards arose the 
smoke of fires where groups of merry children 
were collecting and burning the rubbish. We 
became lost among the winding paths of the 
pine forests, so that by the time we came out 
upon the eminence overlooking the valley of the 
Main, it was quite dark. From every side, far 
and near, rockets of all sizes and colors darted 
high up into the sky. Sometimes a flight of the 
most brilliant crimson and gold lights rushed 
up together, then again by some farm-house in 
the meadow, the vintagers would burn a Roman 
candle, throwing its powerful white light on the 
gardens and fields around. We stopped under 
a garden wall, by which a laughing company 
were assembled in the smoke and red blaze, and 
watched several comets go hissing and glancing 
far above us. The cracking of ammunition still 
continued, and when we came again upon the 
bridge, the city opposite was lighted, as if illu 
minated. The full moon had just risen, soften- 
ing and mellowing the beautiful scene, while be- 
yond, over the tower of Frankfort, rose and fell 
the meteors that heralded the vintage.- 

Since I have been in Frankfort, an event has 
occurred, which shows very distinct the principles 
at work in Germany, and gives us some fore- 
boding of the future. Ferdinand Freiligrath,the 



THE PO&T FREILIGRATH. 107 

first living poet with the exception of Uhland, 
has within a few weeks published a volume of 
poems entitled, "My Confession of Faith, or 
Poems for the Times." It contains some thrill- 
ing appeals to the free spirit of the German peo- 
ple, setting forth the injustice under which they 
labor, in simple but powerful language, and 
with the most forcible illustrations, adapted to 
the comprehension of every one. Viewed as a 
work of genius alone, it is strikingly powerful 
and original: but when we consider the effect it 
is producing among the people — the strength it 
will add to the rising tide of opposition to every 
form of tyranny, it has a still higher interest. 
Freiligrath had three or four years before, re- 
ceived a pension of three hundred thalers from 
the King of Prussia, soon after his accession to 
the throne : he ceased to draw this about a year 
ago, stating in the preface to his volume that it 
was accepted in the belief the King would adhere 
to his promise of giving the people a new consti- 
tution, but that now since time has proved there 
is no dependence to be placed on the King's 
word, he must speak for his people and for his 
land. 

The book has not only been prohibited, but 
Freiligrath has exiled himself voluntarily, to es- 
cape imprisonment. He is now in Paris, where 
Heine and Herwegh, two of Germany's finest 
poets, both banished for the same reasoft, are 
living. The free spirit which characterizes these 
men, who come from among the people, shows 
plainly the tendency of the times; and it is only 
the great strength with which tyranny here has 
environed himself, and the almost lethargic 
slowness of the Germans, which has prevented a 
change ere this. 

In this volume of Freiligrath's, among other 
things, is a translation of Bryant's magnificent 
poem "The Winds," and Burns's "A man's a 
man for a' that;" and I have translated one of 



IwS VIEWS A- FOOT. 

his, as a specimen of the spirit in which they are 
written : 

FREEDOM AND RIGHT. 

Oh! think not she rests in the grave's chilly slumber 

Nor sheds o'er the present her glorious light, 
Since Tyranny's shackles the free soul incumber 

And traitors accusing, deny to us Right! 
No: -whether to exile the sworn ones are wending, 
Or weary of power that crushed them unending, 
In dungeons have perished, their veins madly rending,* 
Yet Freedom still liveth, and with her, the Right! 
Freedom and Right! 

A single defeat can confuse us no longer: 
It adds to the combat's fast gathering might, 

It bids us but doubly to struggle, and stronger, 

To raise up our battle-cry — " Freedom and Right!" 

For the Twain know a union forever abiding, 

Together in Truth and in majesty striding; 

Where Right is, already the free are residing 
And ever, where dwell the free, governeth Right! 
Freedom and Right! 

And this is a trust: never made, as at present, 
The glad pair from battle to battle their flight; 

Never breathed through the soul of the down-trodden 
peasant, 
Their spirit so deeply its promptings of light! 

They sweep o'er the earth with a tempest-like token; 

From strand unto strand words of thunder are spoken; 

Already the serf finds his manacles broken, 
And those of the negro are falling from sight 
Freedom and Right! 

Yes, every where wide is their war- banner waving, 
On the armies of Wrong their revenge to requite; 
The strength of Oppression they boldly are braving 
And at last they will conquer, resistless in might! 
Oh, God ! what a glorious wreath then appearing 
Will blend every leaf in the banner they're bearing — 
The olive of Greece and the shamrock of Erin, 
And the oak-bough of Germany, greenest in light! 
Freedom and Right! 



* This allusion is to Weidig, who, imprisoned for years at Darmstadt 
on account of his political principles, finally committed suicide by cutting 
his throat with the glass of his prison window. 



A STUDENTS' COMMERS. 100 

And many who suffered, are now calmly sleeping, 
The slumber of freemen, borne down by the fight; 

While the Twain o'er their graves still a bright watch are 
keeping, 
Whom we bless for their memories — Freedom and Right! 

Meanwhile lift your glasses! to those who have striven! 

And striving with bold hearts, to misery were driven ! 

Who fought for the Right and but Wrong then were given! 
To Right, the immortal — to Freedom through Right! 
Freedom through Right! 



CHAPTER XII. 

A WEEK AMONG THE STUDENTS. 

Receiving a letter from my cousin one bright 
December morning, the idea of visiting him 

struck me, and so, within an hour, B and I 

were on our way to Heidelberg. It was delight- 
ful weather ; the air was mild as the early days 
of spring, the pine forests around wore a softer 
green, and though the sun was but a hand's 
breadth high, even at noon, it was quite warm 
on the open road. We stopped for the night at 
Bensheim ; the next morning was as dark as a 
cloudy day in the north can be, wearing a heavy 
gloom I never saw elsewhere. The wind blew the 
snow down from the summits upon us, but be- 
ing w r arm from walking, we did not heed it. The 
mountains looked higher than in summer, and 
the old castles more grim and frowning. From 
the hard roads and freezing wind, my feet be- 
came very sore, and after limping along in ex- 
scruciating pain for a league or two, I filled my 
boots with brandy, which deadened the wounds 
so much, that I was enabled to go on in a kind 
of trot, which I kept up, only stopping ten min- 
utes to dinner, till we reached Heidelberg. 

The same evening there was to be a general 



lid VIEWS A-FOOT. 

commers, or meeting* of the societies among' tiie 
students, and I determined not to omit witness- 
ing one of the most interesting and character- 
istic features of student-life. So borrowing a cap 
and coat, I looked the student well enough to 
pass for one of them, though the former article 
was somewhat of a Philister form. Baader, a 
young poet of some note, and president of the 
" Palatia" Society, having promised to take us 
there, we met at eight o'clock at an inn fre- 
quented by the students, and went to the ren- 
dezvous, near the Markt Platz. 

A confused sound of voices came from the inn, 
as we drew near ; groups of students were stand- 
ing around the door. In the entry we saw the 
Eed Fisherman, one of the most conspicuous 
characters about the University. He is a small, 
stout man, with bare neck and breast, red hair, 
whence his name, and a strange mixture of 
roughness and benevolence in his countenance. 
He has saved many persons at the risk of his 
own life, from drowning in the Neckar, and on 
that account is leniently dealt with by the fac- 
ulty whenever he is arrested for assisting the 
students in any of their unlawful proceedings. 
Entering the room I could scarcely see at first, 
on account of the smoke that ascended from a 
hundred pipes. All was noise and confusion. 
Near the door sat some half dozen musicians 
who were getting their instruments ready for 
action, and the long room was filled with tables, 
all of which seemed to be full and the students 
were still pressing in. The tables were covered 
with great stone jugs and long beer glasses ; the 
students were talking and shouting and drink- 
ing. — One Avho appeared to have the arrange- 
ment of the meeting, found seats for us together, 
and having made a slight acquaintance with 
those sitting next us, we felt more at liberty to 
witness their proceedings. They were all talk- 
ing in a sociable, friendly way, and I saw no o t _d 



SOJVGS AND SPEECHES. Ill 

who appeared to be intoxicated. The beer was 
a weak mixture, which I should think would 
make one fall over from its weight before it 
would intoxicate him. Those 'sitting- near me 
drank but little, and that principally to make 
or return compliments. One or two at the other 
end of the table were more boisterous, and more 
than one glass was overturned on the legs below 
it. Leaves containing the songs for the evening 
lay at each seat, and at the head, where the 
President sat, were two swords crossed, with 
which he occasionally struck upon the table to 
preserve order. Our President was a fine, ro- 
mantic-looking young man, dressed in the old 
German costume, which is far handsomer than 
the modern. I never saw in any company of 
young men, so many handsome, manly counte- 
nances. If their faces were any index of their 
characters, there were many noble, free souls 
among them. Nearly opposite to me sat a 
young poet, whose dark eyes flashed with feel- 
ing as he spoke to those near him. After some 
time passed in talking and drinking together, 
varied by an occasional air from the musicians, 
the President beat order with the sword, and the 
whole company joined in one of their glorious 
songs, to a melody at the same time joyous and 
solemn. Swelled by so many manly voices it 
rose up like a hymn of triumph — all other sounds 
were stilled. Three times during the singing all 
rose up, clashed their glasses together around 
the tables and drank to their Fatherland, a 
health and blessing to the patriot, and honor to 
those who struggle in the cause of freedom, at 
the close thundering out their motto : 

" Fearless in strife, to the banner still true!" 

After this song- the same order as before was 
continued, except that students from the differ- 
ent societies made short speeches, accompanied 



112 VIEWS A- FOOT. 

by some toast or sentiment. One spoke of Ger- 
many — predicting that all her dissensions would 
be overcome, and she would rise up at last, like 
a phoenix amoifg the nations of Europe ; and at 
the close gave "strong, united, regenerated Ger- 
many!" Instantly all sprang to their feet, and 
clashing the glasses together, gave a thundering 
"hoch!" This enthusiasm for their country is 
one of the strongest characteristics of the Ger- 
man students ; they have ever been first in the 
field for her freedom, and on them mainly de- 
pends her future redemption. 

Cloths were passed around, the tables wiped 
off, and preparations made to sing the "Lands- 
father" or consecration song. This is one of the 
most important and solemn of their ceremonies, 
since by performing it the new students are made 
burschen, and the bands of brotherhood contin- 
ually kept fresh and sacred. All became still a 
moment, then they commenced the lofty song: 

" Silent bending, each one lending 

To the solemn tones his ear, 
Hark, the song cf songs is sounding 
Back from joyful choir resounding, 

Hear it, German brothers, hear! 

" German proudly, raise it loudly, 
Singing of your fatherland — 
Fatherland! thou land of story, 
To the altars of thy glory 
Consecrate us, sword in hand! 

" Take the beaker, pleasure seeker, 

With thy country's drink brimmed o'er! 
In thy left the sword is blinking, 
Pierce it through the cap, while drinking 
« To thy Fatherland once more! " 

With the first line of the last stanza, the Pres- 
idents sitting at the head of the table, take their 
glasses in their right hands, and at the third 
line, the sword in their left, at the end striking 
their glasses together and drinking. 



THE LANDSFATHER. 113 

" In left hand gleaming, thou art beaming, 
Sword from all dishonor free! 
Thus I pierce the cap, while swearing, 
It in honor ever wearing, 
I a valiant Bursch will be! '' 

They clash their swords together till the third 
line is sung, when each takes his cap, and pierc- 
ing the point of the sword through the crown, 
draws it down to the guard. Leaving their caps 
on the swords, the Presidents stand behind the 
two next students, who go through the same 
ceremony, receiving the swords at the appropri- 
ate time, and giving it back loaded with then* 
caps also. This ceremony is going on at every 
table at the same time. These two stanzas are 
repeated for every pair of students, till all have 
gone through with it, and the Presidents have 
arrived at the bottom of the table, with their 
swords strung full of caps. Here they exchange 
swords, while all sing: 

" Come thou bright sword, now made holy, 

Of freemen the weapon free; 
Bring it solemnly and slowly, 

Heavy with pierced caps, to me! 
From its burden now divest it; 

Brothers be ye covered all, 

And till our next festival, 
Hallowed and unspotted res*l it! 

"Up ye feast companions! ever 

Honor ye our holy band ! 
And with heart and soul endeavor 

E'er as high-souled men to stand! 
Up to feast, ye men united ! 

Worthy be your fathers' fame, 

And the sword may no one claim, 
Who to honor is not plighted! " 

Then each President, taking a cap off hi? 
sword, reached it to the student opposite, and 
they crossed their swords, the ends resting on 
the two students' heads, while they sang t ho 
next stanza : 



114 VIEWS A- FOOT. 

" So take it back; thy head I now will cover 
And stretch the bright sword over. 

Live also then this Bursche, hoch! 
Wherever we may meet him, 
Will we, as Brother greet him — 

Live also this, our Brother, hoch! " 

This ceremony was repeated till all the caps 
were given back, and they then concluded with 

the following : 

i 

" Rest, the Burschen-feast is over, 

Hallowed sword and thou art free! 
Each one strive a valiant lover 

Of his fatherland to be! 
Hail to him, who, glory-haunted, 

Follows still his fathers bold; 

And the sword may no one hold 
But the noble and undaunted ! " 

The Landsfather being over, the students were 
less orderly; the smoking and drinking began 
again and we left, as it was already eleven 
o'clock, glad to breathe the pure cold air. 

In the University I heard Gervinus, who was 
formerly professor in Gottingen, but was obliged 
to leave on account of his liberal principles. 
He is much liked by the students and his lec- 
tures are very well attended. They had this 
winter a torchlight procession in honor of him. 
He is a stout, round-faced man, speaks very fast, 
and makes them laugh continually with his 
witty remarks. In the room I saw a son of 
Ruckert, the poet, with a face strikingly like his 
father's. The next evening I went to hearSchlos- 
ser, the great historian. Among his pupils are 
the two princes of Baden, who are now at the 
University. He came hurriedly in, threw down 
his portfolio and began instantly to speak. He 
is an old, gray-headed man, but still active and 
full of energy. The Germans find him exceed- 
ingly difficult to understand, as he is said to use 
the English construction almost entirely; for 
this reason, perhaps, I understood him quite 



A DUEL. 115 

easily. He lectures on the French Revolution, 
but is engaged in writing a Universal History, 
the first numbers of which are published. 

Two or three days after, we heard that a duel 
was to take place at Neuenheim, on the opposite 
side of the Neckar, where the students have a 
house hired for that purpose. In order to wit- 
ness the spectacle, we started immediately with 
two or three students. Along the road were 
stationed old women, at intervals, as guards, to 
give notice of the approach of the police, and 
from these we learned that one duel had already 
been fought, and they were preparing for the 
other. The Red Fisherman was busy in an 
outer room grinding the swords, which are 
made as sharp as razors. In the large room 
some forty or fifty students were walking about, 
while the parties were preparing. This was 
done by taking off the coat and vest and bind- 
ing a great thick leather garment on, which 
reached from the breast to the knees, completely 
protecting the body. They then put on a 
leather glove reaching nearly to the shoulder, 
tied a thick cravat around the throat, and drew 
on a cap with a large vizor. This done, they 
were walked about the room a short time, the 
seconds holding out their arms to strengthen 
them ; their faces all this time betrayed consid- 
erable anxiety. 

All being ready, the seconds took their sta- 
tions immediately behind them, each armed with 
a sword, and gave the words: " ready — bind 
your weapons — loose!" They instantly sprang 
at each other, exchanged two or three blows, 
when the seconds cried "halt!" and "struck their 
swords up. Twenty-four rounds of this kind 
ended the duel, without either being hurt, 
though the cap of one of them was cut through 
and his forehead grazed. All their duels do not 
end so fortunately, however, as the frightful 
scars on the faces of many of those present, 



11(3 VIEWS A -FOOT. 

testified. It is a gratification to know that but 
a small portion of the students keep up this 
barbarous custom. The great body is opposed 
to it; in Heidelberg, four societies, comprising 
more than one half the students, have been 
formed against it. A strong desire for such a 
reform seems to prevail, and the custom will 
probably be totally discontinued in a shoit 
time. 

This view of the student-life was very interest- 
ing to me; it appeared in a much better light 
than I had been accustomed to view it. Their 
peculiar customs, except duelling and drinking, 
of course, may be the better tolerated when we 
consider their effect on the liberty of Germany. 
It is principally through them that a free spirit 
is kept alive; they have ever been foremost to 
rise up for their Fatherland, and bravest in its 
defence. And though many of their customs 
have so often been held up to ridicule, among 
no other class can one find warmer, truer or 
braver hearts. 



CHAPTER XIII. 

CHEISTMAS AND NEW YEAR IN GERMANY. 

Jan. 2, 1845. — I have lately been computing 
how much my travels have cost me up to the 
present time, and how long! can remain abroad 
to continue the pilgrimage, with my present 
expectations. The result has been most en- 
couraging to my plan. Before leaving home I 
wrote to several gentlemen who had visited 
Europe, requesting the probable expense of 
travel and residence abroad . They sent different 
accounts; E. Joy Morris said I must calculate 



MT EXPENSES. 117 

to spend at least $1,500 a year; another 
suggested $1,000, and the most moderate of all 
said that it was impossible to live in Europe a 
year on less than $500. Now, six months have 
elapsed since I left home— six months of greater 
pleasure and profit than any year of my former 
life— and my expenses in full, amount to $1 30 ! 
This, however, nearly exhausts the limited 
sum with which I started, but through the kind- 
ness of the editorial friends who have been pub- 
lishing my sketches of travel, I trust to receive 
a remittance shortly. Printing is a business 
attended with so little profit here, as there are 
already so many workmen, that it is almost use- 
less for a stranger to apply. Besides, after a 
to ugh grapple, I am just beginning to master the 
language, and it seems so necessary to devote 
every minute to study, that I would rather un- 
dergo some privation, than neglect turning 
these fleeting hours into gold, for the miser 
Memory to stow away in the treasure- vaults of 
the mind. 

We have lately witnessed the most beautiful 
and interesting of all German festivals, Christ- 
mas. This is here peculiarly celebrated. About 
the commencement of December the Christmarkt 
or fair, was opened in the Koemerberg, and 
has continued to the present time. The booths 
decorated with green boughs, were filled 
with toys of various kinds, among which during 
the first days the figure of St. Nicholas was con- 
spicuous. There were bunches of wax candles to 
illuminate the Christmas tree, gingerbread with 
printed mottoes in poetry, beautiful little 
earthenware, basket-Avork, and a wilderness 
of playthings. The 5th of December, being 
Nicholas evening, the booths were lighted up, 
and the square was filled with boys, running 
from one stand to another, all shouting and 
talking together in the most joyous confusion. 
Nurses were going around, carrying the smaller 



118 VIEWS A-FOOT. 

children in their arms, and parents bought 
presents decorated with sprigs of pine and 
carried them away. Some of the shops had 
beautiful toys, as for instance, a whole grocery 
store in miniature, with barrels, boxes and 
drawers, all filled with sweetmeats, a kitchen 
with a stove and all suitable utensils, which 
could really be used, and sets of dishes of the 
most diminutive patterns. All was a scene of 
activity and joyous feeling. 

Many of the tables had bundles of rods with 
gilded bands, which were to be used that evening 
by the persons who represented St. Nicholas. In 
the family with whom we reside, one of our 
German friends dressed himself very comically, 
with a mask, fur robe and long tapering cap. 
He came in with a bunch of rods and a sack, 
with a broom for a sceptre. After we all had 
received our share of the beating, he threw the 
contents of his bag on the table, and while we 
were scrambling for the nuts and apples, gave 
us many smart raps over the fingers. In many 
families the children are made to say, "I thank 
you, Herr Nicolaus," and the rods are hung up 
in the room till Christmas to keep them in 
good behavior. This was only a forerunner of 
the Christ-kindchen's coming. The Nicolaus is 
the punishing spirit, the Christ-kindchen the 
rewarding one. 

When this time was over, we all began prepar- 
ing secretly our presents for Christmas. Every 
day there were consultations about the things 
which should be obtained. It was so arranged 
that all should interchange presents, but nobody 
must know beforehand what he would receive. 
What pleasure there was in all these secret 
purchases and preparations ! Scarcely anything 
was thought or spoken of but Christmas, and 
every day the consultations became more numer- 
ous and secret. The trees were bought some- 
time beforehand, but as we wer.e to witness the 



Tl,R CHRISTMAS TREE. ]i;i 

festival for the first time, we were not allowed 
to see them prepared, in order that the effect 
might be as great as possible. The market in 
the Rcemerberg Square grew constantly larger 
and more brilliant. Every night it was lit np 
with lamps and thronged with people. Quite a 
forest sprang up in the street before our door. 
The old stone house opposite, with the traces of 
so ma ny centuries on its dark face, seemed to 
stand in the midst of a garden. It was a pleas- 
ure to go out every evening and see the children 
rushing to and fro, shouting and seeking out 
toys from the booths, and talking all the time 
of the Christmas that was so near. The poor 
people went by with their little presents hid 
under their cloaks, lest their children might see 
them ; every heart was glad and every counte- 
nance wore a smile of secret pleasure. 

Finally the day before Christmas arrived. 
The streets were so full I could hardly make my 
way through, and the sale of trees went on more 
rapidly than ever. These were commonly 
branches of pine or fir, set upright in a little 
miniature garden of moss. When the lamps 
were lighted at night, our street had the appear- 
ance of an illuminated garden. We were pro- 
hibited from entering the rooms up stairs in 
which the grand ceremony was to take place, 
being obliged to take our seats in those arranged 
for the guests, and wait with impatience the 
hour when Christ-kindchen should call. Sev- 
eral relations of the family came, and what was 
more agreeable, they brought with them five or 
six children. I was anxious to see how they 
would view the ceremony. Finally, in the mid- 
dle of am interesting conversation, we heard the 
bell ringing up stairs. We all started up and 
made for the door. I ran up the steps with the 
children at my heels, and at the top met a blaze 
of light coming from the open door, that dazzled 
me. In each room stood a great table, on which 



120 VIEWS A-FOOT. 

the presents were arranged, amid flowers and 
wreaths. From the centre, rose the beautiful 
Christmas tree covered with wax tapers to the 
very top, which made it nearly as light as day, 
while every bough was hung with sweetmeats 
and gilded nuts. The children ran shouting 
around the table, hunting their presents, while 
the older persons had theirs pointed out to them. 
I had quite a little library of German authors 
as my share ; and many of the others received 
quite valuable gifts. 

But how beautiful was the heart-felt joy that 
shone on every countenance ! As each one dis^ 
covered he embraced the givers, and all was a 
scene of the purest feelings. It is a glorious 
feast, this Christmas time ! What a chorus from 
happy hearts went up on that evening to Heaven ! 
Full of poetry and feeling and glad associations, 
it is here anticipated with joy, and leaves a 
pleasant memory behind it. We may laugh at 
such simple festivals at home, and prefer to 
shake ourselves loose from every shackle that 
bears the rust of the Past, but w T e would cer- 
tainty be happier if some of these beautiful old 
customs were better honored. They renew the 
bond of feeling between families and friends, 
and strengthen their kindly sympathy; even 
life-long friends require occasions of this kind to 
freshen the wreath that binds them together. 

New Year's Eve is also favored with a peculiar 
celebration in Germany. Everybody remains up 
and makes himself merry till midnight. The 
Christmas trees are again lighted, and while the 
tapers are burning down, the family play for 
articles which they have purchased and hung on 
theboughs. Itisso arranged thateach oneshall 
win as much as he gives, which change of arti- 
cles makes much amusement. One of the ladies 
rejoiced in the possession of a red silk handker- 
chief and a cake of soap, while a cup and saucer 
and a pair of scissors fell to my lot! As mid- 



NEW TEAR'S EVE. 121 

flight drew near, it was louder in the streets, and 
companies of people, some of them singing in 
chorus, passed by on their way to the Zeil. 
Finally three-quarters struck, the windows were 
opened and every one waited anxiously for the 
clock to strike. At the first sound, such a cry 
arose as one may imagine, when thirty or forty 
thousand persons all set their lungs going at 
once Every body in the house, in the street, 
over the whole city, shouted, "Prosst Neu Jabr!" 
In families, all the members embrace each other, 
with wishes of happiness for the new year. Then 
the windows are thrown open, and they cry to 
their neighbors or those passing by. 

After we had exchanged congratulations, Den- 
nett, B a:» d I set out for the Zeil. The streets 

were full of people, shouting to one another and 
to those standing at the open windows. We 
failed not to cry, 'Prosst Neu JahvV wherever 
we saw a damsel at the window, and the words 
came back to us more musically than we sent 
them. Along the ftoil the spectacle was most 
singular. The great wide street was filled with 
companies of men marching up and down, while 
from the mass rang up one deafening, unending 
shout, that seemed to pierce the black sky above. 
The whole scene looked stranger and wilder from 
the flickering light of the raw inging lamps, and ) 
could not help thinking it must resemble a, night 
in Paris during the French Revolution. We 
joined the crowd and used our lungs as well as 
any of them. For some time after we returner* 
home, companies passed by, singing "with u** 
'tis ever so !" but at three o'clock" all xas agaii^ 
silent. 



122 VIEWS A- FOOT. 



CHAPTER XIV. 

WINTER IN FRANKFORT — A FAIR, AN INUNDATION 
AND A FIRE. 

After New Year, the Main, just above the city, 
and the lakes in the promenades, were frozen 
over. The ice was tried by the police, and hav- 
ing been found of sufficient thickness, to the 
great joy of the schoolboys, permission was 
given to skate. The lakes were soon covered 
with merry skaters, and every afternoon the 
banks were crowded with spectators. It was a 
lively sight to see two or three hundred persons 
darting about, turning and crossing like a flock 
of crows, while, by means of arm-chairs mounted 
on runners, the ladies were enabled to join in the 
sport, and whirl around among them. Some of 
the broad meadows near the city, which were 
covered with water, were the resort of the schools. 
I went there often in my walks, and always 
found two or three schools, with the teachers, 
all skating together, and playing their winter 
games on the ice. I have often seen them on the 
meadows along the Main ; the teachers generally 
made quite as much noise as the scholars in their 
sports. 

In the Art Institute I saw the picture of " Huss 
before the Council of Constance," by the painter 
Lessing. It contains upwards of twenty figures. 
The artist has shown the greatest skill in the ex- 
pression and grouping of these. Bishops and 
Cardinals in their splendid robes are seated 
around a table, covered with parchment folios, 
and before them stands Huss alone. His face, 
pale and thin with long imprisonment, he has 



THE ESCHERNHEIM TOWER UH 

lain one hand on his breast, while with the other 
he has grasped one of the volumes on the table; 
there is an air of majesty, of heavenly serenity 
on his lofty forehead and calm eye. One feels in- 
stinctively that he has truth on his side. There 
can be no deception, no falsehood in those noble 
features. The three Italian cardinals before him 
appear to be full of passionate rage ; the bishop 
in front, who holds the imperial pass given to 
Huss, looks on with an expression of scorn, and 
the priests around have an air of mingled curi- 
osity and hatred. There is one, however, in 
whose mild features and tearful eye is expressed 
sympathy and pity for the prisoner. It is said 
this picture has had a great effect upon Catholics 
who have seen it, in softening the bigotry with 
which they regarded the early reformers ; and if 
so, it is a triumphant proof how much art can 
effect in the cause of truth and humanity. I was 
much interested in a cast of the statue of St. 
George, by the old Italian sculptor Donatello. 
It is a figure full of youth and energy, with a 
countenance that seems to breathe. Donatello 
was the teacher of Michael Angelo, and when the 
young sculptor was about setting off for Eome, 
he showed him the statue, his favorite work. 
Michael gazed at it long and intensely, and at 
length, on parting, said to Donatello, "It wants 
but one thing." The artist pondered long over 
this expression, for he could not imagine in what 
could fail the matchless figure. At length, after 
many years, Michael Angelo, in the noon of his 
renown, visited the death-bed of his old master. 
Donatello begged to know, before he died, what 
was wanting to his St. George. Angelo an- 
swered "the gift of speech!" and a smile of tri- 
umph lighted the old man's face, as he closed his 
eyes forever. 

The Eschernheim Tower, at the entrance of 
one of the city gates, is universally admired by 
strangers, on account of its picturesque appear- 



124 VIEWS A -FOOT. 

ance, overgrown with ivy and terminated by the 
little pointed turrets, which one sees so often in 
Germany, on buildings three or four centuries 
old. There are five other watch-towers of similar 
form, which stand on different sides of the city, 
at the distance of a mile or two, and generally 
upon an eminence overlooking the country. 
They were erected several centuries ago, to dis- 
cern from afar the approach of an enemy, and 
protect the caravans of merchants, which at 
that time travelled from city to city, from the 
attacks of robbers. The Eschernheim Tower is 
interesting from another circumstance, which, 
whether true or not, is universally believed. 
When Frankfort was under the sway of a prince, 
a Swiss hunter, for some civil offence, was con- 
demned to die. He begged his life from the 
prince, who granted it only on condition that he 
should fire the figure 9 with his rifle through the 
vane of this tower. He agreed, and did it ; and 
at the present time, one can distinguish a rude 9 
on the vane, as if cut with bullets, while two or 
three marks at the side appear to be from shots 
that failed. 

The promise of spring which lately visited us, 
was not destined for fulfilment. Shortly after- 
wards it grew cold again, with a succession of 
snows and sharp northerly winds. Such weather 
at the commencement of spring is not uncom- 
mon at home ; but here they say there has not 
been such a winter known for 150 years. In 
the north of Prussia many persons have been 
starved to death on account of provisions be- 
coming scarce. Among the Hartz also, the 
suffering is very great. We saw nothing of the 
misery even here. It was painful to walk 
through the streets and see so many faces bear- 
ing plainly the marks of want, so many pale, 
hollow-eyed creatures, with suffering written on 
every feature. We were assailed with petitions 
for help which could not be relieved, though it 



THE FRA NKFOR T FAIR. 125 

pained and saddened the heart to deny. The 
women, too, labor like brutes, day after day. 
Many of them appear cheerful and contented, 
and are no doubt, tolerably happy, for the Ger- 
mans have all true, warm hearts, and are faith- 
ful to one another, as far as poverty will permit; 
but one cannot see old, gray-headed women, 
carrying loads on their heads as heavy as them- 
selves, exposed to all kinds of weather and work- 
ing from morning till night, without pity and 
indignation. 

So unusually severe has been the weather, that 
the deer and hares in the mountains near, came 
nearly starved and tamed down by hunger, into 
the villages to hunt food. The people fed them 
every day, and also carried grain into the fields 
for the partridges and pheasants, who flew up 
to them like domestic fowls. The poor ravens 
made me really sorry; some lay dead in the 
fields and many came into the city perfectly 
tame, flying along th# Main with wings hardly 
strong enough to bear up their skeleton bodies. 
The storks came at the usual time, but went 
back again. I hope the year's blessing has not 
departed with them, according to the old Ger- 
man superstition. 

March 26. — We have hopes of spring at last. 
Three days ago the rain began and has con- 
tinued with little intermission till now. The air 
is warm, the snow goes fast, and everything 
seems to announce that the long winter is break- 
ing up. The Main rises fast, and goes by the 
city lik* an arrow, whirling large masses of ice 
upon the banks. The hills around are coming 
out from under the snow, and the lilac-buds in 
the promenades begin to expand for the second 
time. 

The Fair has now commenced in earnest, and 
it is a most singular and interesting sight. The 
open squares are filled with booths, leaving nar- 
row streets between them, across which canvas 



m VIEWS A- FOOT. 

is spread. Every booth is open and filled with a 
dazzling display of wares of all kinds. Mer- 
chants assemble from all parts of Europe. The 
Bohemians come with their gorgeous crystal 
ware; the Nurembergers with their toys, quaint 
and fanciful as the old city itself; men from the 
Thuringian forest, with minerals and canes, and 
traders from Berlin, Vienna, Paris and Switzer- 
land, with dry goods and wares of all kinds. 
Near the Exchange are two or three companies 
of Tyrolese, who attract much of my attention. 
Their costume is exceedingly picturesque. The 
men have all splendid manly figures, and honor 
and bravery are written on their countenances. 
One of the girls is a really handsome mountain 
maiden, and with her pointed, broad-brimmed 
black hat, as romantic looking as one could de- 
sire. The musicians have arrived, and we are 
entertained the whole day long by wandering 
bands, some of whom play finely. The best, 
which is also the favorite company, is from Sax- 
ony, called "The Mountain Boys." They are 
now playing in our street, and while I write, one 
of the beautiful choruses from Norma comes up 
through the din of the crowd. In fact, music is 
heard over the whole city, and the throngs that 
fill every street with all sorts of faces and 
dresses, somewhat relieve the monotony that 
was beginning to make Frankfort tiresome. 

We have an ever-varied and interesting scene 
from our window. Besides the motley crowd of 
passers-by, there are booths and tables thick be- 
low. One man in particular is busily engaged in. 
selling his store of blacking in the a/uction style, 
in a manner that would do credit to a real 
Down-easter. He has flaming certificates exhib- 
ited, and prefaces his calls to buy with a high- 
sounding description of its wonderful qualities. 
He has a bench in front, where he tests it on the 
shoes of his customers, or if none of these are 
disposed to try it, he rubs it on his own, which 



AN INUNDA TION V27 

shine like mirrors. So lie rattles on with amaz- 
ing fluency in French, German and Italian, and 
this, with his black beard and mustache and his 
polite, graceful manner, keeps a crowd of cus- 
tomers around him, so that the wonderful 
blacking goes off as fast as he can supply it. 

April 6. — Old Winter's gates are shut close be- 
hind us, and the sun looks down with his sum- 
mer countenance. The air, after the long cold 
rain, is like that of Paradise. All things are 
gay and bright, and everybody is in motion. 
Spring commenced with yesterday in earnest, 
and lo! before night the roads were all dry 
and fine as if there had been no rain for a 
month ; and the gardeners dug and planted in 
ground which, eight* days before, was covered 
with snow ! 

After having lived through the longest winter 
here, for one hundred and fifty years, we were 
destined to witness the greatest flood for sixty, 
and little lower than any within the last three 
hundred years. On the 28th of March the river 
overflooded the high pier along the Main, and 
rising higher and higher, began to come into 
the gates and alleys. Before night the whole 
bank was covered and the water intruded into 
some of the booths in the Romerberg. When I 
went there the next morning, it w T as a sorrow- 
ful sight. Persons were inside the gate with 
boats; so rapidly had it risen, that many of the 
merchants had no time to move their wares, 
and must suffer great damage. They were busy 
rescuing what property could be seized in the 
haste, and constructing passages into the 
houses which were surrounded. No one seemed 
to think of buying or selling, but only on the 
best method to escape the danger. Along the 
Main it was still worse. From the measure, it 
had risen seventeen feet above its usual level, 
and the arches of the bridge were filled nearly to 
the top. At the Upper-Main gate, every thing 



128 VIEWS A- FOOT. 

was flooded— houses, gardens, workshops, &c. ; 
the water had even overrun the meadows above 
and attacked the city from behind, so that a 
part of the beautiful promenades lay deep under 
water. On the other side, we could see houses 
standing in it up to the roof. It came up 
through the sewers into the middle of Frank- 
fort; a large body of men were kept at work 
constructing slight bridges to walk on, and 
transporting boats to places where they were 
needed. This was all done at the expense of the 
city; the greatest readiness was everywhere 
manifested to render all possible assistance. In 
the Fischergasse, I saw them taking provisions 
to the people in boats; one man even fastened a 
loaf of bread to the end of a broomstick and 
reached it across the narrow street from an up- 
per story window, to the neighbor opposite. 
News came that Hausen, a village towards the 
Taunus, about two miles distant, was quite 
under water, and that the people clung to the 
roofs and cried for. help; but it was fortunately 
false. About noon, cannon shots were heard, 
and twenty boats were sent out from the city. 
In the afternoon I ascended the tower of the 
Cathedral, which commands a wide view of the 
valley, up and clown. Just above the city the 
whole plain was like a small lake — between two 
and three miles wide. A row of new-built houses 
stretched into it like a long promontory, and in 
the middle, like an island, stood a country-seat 
with large out-buildings. The river sent a long 
arm out below, that reached up through the 
meadows behind the city, as if to clasp it all 
and bear it away together. A heavy storm was 
raging along the whole extent of the Taunus; 
but a rainbow stood in the eastern sky. I 
thought of its promise, and hoped, for the sake 
ot the hundreds of poor people who were suffer- 
ing by the waters, that it might herald their 
fall. 



RISE OF THE WATERS. 129 

We afterwards went over to Sachsenhausen, 
which was, if possible, in a still more unfortu- 
nate condition. The water had penetrated the 
passages and sewers, and from these leaped and 
rushed up into the streets, as out of a fountain. 
The houses next to the Main, which were first 
filled, poured torrents out of the doors and 
windows into the street below. These people 
were nearly all poor, and could ill afford the loss 
of time and damage of property it occasioned 
them. The stream was filled with wood and 
boards, and even whole roofs, with the tiles on, 
went floating down. The bridge was crowded 
with people; one saw everywhere mournful 
countenances, and heard lamentations over the 
catastrophe. After sunset, a great cloud, filling 
half the sky, hung above; the reflection of its 
glowing crimson tint, joined to the brown hue 
of the water, made it seem like a river of fire. 

What a difference a little sunshine makes ! I 
could have forgotten the season the next day, 
but for the bare trees and swelling Main, as I 
threaded my way through the hundreds of 
people who thronged its banks. It was that 
soft warmth that comes with the first spring- 
days, relaxing the body and casting a dreamy 
hue over the mind. I leaned over the bridge in 
the full enjoyment of it, and listening to the 
roaring of the water under the arches, forgot 
every thing else for a time. It was amusing to 
walk up and down the pier and look at the 
countenances passing by, while the phantasy 
was ever ready, weaving a tale for all.. My 
favorite Tyrolese were there, and I saw a Greek 
leaning over the stone balustrade, wearing the 
red cap and the white frock, and with the long- 
dark hair and fiery eye of the Orient. I could 
not but wonder, as he looked at the dim hills of 
the Odenwald, along the eastern horizon, 
whether they called up in his mind the purple 
isles of his native Archipelago. 



130 VIEWS A- FOOT. 

The general character of a nation is plainly 
stamped on the countenances of its people. One 
who notices the faces in the streets, can soon 
distinguish, by the glance he gives in going by, 
the Englishman or the Frenchman from the 
German, and the Christian from the Jew. Not 
less striking is the difference of expression be- 
tween the Germans themselves; and in places 
where all classes of people are drawn together, 
it is interesting to observe how accurately these 
distinctions are drawn. The boys have gen- 
erally handsome, intelligent faces, and like all 
boys, they are full of life and spirit, for they 
know nothing of the laws by which their 
country is chained down, and would not care for 
them, if they did. But with the exception of the 
students, who talk, at least, of Liberty and 
Right, the young men lose this spirit and at 
last settle down into the calm, cautious, lethar- 
gic citizen. One distinguishes an Englishman, 
and I should think an American, also, in this 
respect, very easily ; the former, moreover, by a 
certain cold stateliness and reserve. There is 
something, however, about a Jew, whether 
English or German, which marks him from all 
others. However different their faces, there is a 
family character which runs through the whole 
of them. It lays principally in their high cheek- 
bones, prominent nose and thin, compressed 
lips; which, especially in elderly men, gives a 
peculiar miserly expression that is unmistak- 
able. 

I regret to say, one looks almost in vain, in 
Germany, for a handsome female countenance. 
Here and there, perhaps, is a woman with regu- 
lar features, but that intellectual expression, 
which gives such a charm to the most common 
face, is wanting. I have seen more beautiful 
women in one night, in a public assembly in 
America, than during the seven months I have 
been on the Continent, Some of the young 



DESOLATTON BT THE FLOOD. 13t 

Jewesses, in Frankfort, are considered hand- 
some, but their features soon become too 
strongly marked. In a public walk the number 
of positively ugly faces is really astonishing. 

About ten o'clock that night, I heard a noise 
of persons running in the street, and going to 
the Romerberg, found the water had risen, all at 
once, much higher, and was still rapidly increas- 
ing. People were setting up torches and length- 
ening the rafts, which had been already formed. 
The lower part of the city was a real Venice — 
the streets were full of boats and people could 
even row about in their own houses; though it 
was not quite so bad as the flood in Georgia, 
where they went np stairs to bed in boats! I 
went to the bridge. Persons were calling 
around— " The water! the water! it rises con- 
tinually!" The river rushed through the arches, 
foaming and dashing with a noise like thunder, 
and the red light of the torches along the shore 
cast a flickering glare on the troubled waves. 
It was then twenty-one feet above its usual level. 
Men were busy all around, carrying boats and 
ladders to the places most threatened, or empty- 
ing cellars into which it Avas penetrating. The 
sudden swelling was occasioned by the coming- 
down of the floods from the mountains of 
Spessart. 

Part of the upper quay cracked next morning 
and threatened to fall in, and one of the pro- 
jecting piers of the bridge sunk aAvay from the 
main body three or four mches. In Sachsenhau- 
sen the desolation occasioned by the flood is ab- 
solutely frightful ; several houses have fallen 
into total ruin. All business was stopped for 
the day; the Exchange Avas even shut up. As 
the city depends almost entirely on pumps for 
its supply of Avater, and these Avere filled Avith 
the flood, Ave have been drinking the muddy cur- 
rent of the Main ever since. The damage to 
goods is very great. The fair Avas stopped at 
5 



132 VIEWS AFOOT. 

once, and the loss in this respect alone, must be 
several millions of florins. The water began to 
fall on the 1st, and has now sunk about ten 
feet, so that most of the houses are again re- 
leased, though in a bad condition. 

Yesterday afternoon, as I was sitting in my 
room, writing, I heard all at once an explosion 
like a cannon in the street, followed by loud and 
continued screams. Looking out the window, 
I saw the people rushing by with goods in their 
arms, some wringing their hands and crying, 
others running in all directions. Imagining 
that it was nothing less than the tumbling 
down of one of the old houses, we ran down and 
saw a store a few doors distant in flames. The 
windows were bursting and flying out, and the 
mingled mass of smoke and red flame reached 
half way across the street. We learned after- 
wards it was occasioned by the explosion of a 
jar of naphtha, which instantly enveloped the 
whole room in fire, the people barely escaping in 
time. The persons who had booths near were 
standing still in despair, while the flames were 
beginning to touch their property. A few 
butchers who first came up, did almost every- 
thing. A fire engine arrived soon, but it was 
ten minutes before it began to play, and by that 
time the flames were coming out of the upper 
stories. Then the supply of water soon failed, 
and though another engine came up shortly 
after, it was sometime before it could be put in 
order, so that by the time they got fairly to 
work, the fire had made its way nearly through 
the house. The water was first brought in 
barrels drawn by horses, till some officer came 
and opened the fire plug. The police were busy 
at work seizing those who came by and setting 
them to work; and as the alarm had drawn a 
great many together, they at last began to 
effect something. All the military are obliged 
to be out, and the officers appeared eager to use 



A FIRE. 133 

their authority while they could, for every one 
was ordering and commanding, till all was a 
scene of perfect confusion and uproar. I could 
not help laughing heartily, so ludicrous did the 
scene appear. There were little, miserable en- 
gines, not much bigger than a hand-cart, and 
looking as if they had not been used for half a 
century, the horses running backwards and for- 
wards, dragging barrels which were emptied 
into tubs, after which the water was finally 
dipped up in buckets, and emptied into the 
engines! These machines can only play into 
the second or third story, after which the hose 
was taken up in the houses on the opposite side 
of the street, and made to play across. After 
four hours the fire was overcome, the house 
being thoroughly burnt out ; it happened to 
have double fire walls, which prevented those 
adjoining from catching easily. 



CHAPTER XV. 

THE DEAD AND THE DEAF — MENDELSSOHN THE 
COMPOSER. 

It is now a luxury to breathe. These spring 
days are the perfection of delightful weather. 
Imagine the delicious temperature of our Indian 
summer joined to the life and freshness of spring, 
add to this a sky of the purest azure, and a 
breeze filled with the odor of violets, — the most 
exquisite of all perfumes — and you have some 
idea of it. The meadows are beginning to 
bloom, and I have already heard the larks sing- 
ing high up in the sky. Those sacred birds, the 
storks, have returned and taken possession of 



134 VIEWS A- FOOT. 

their old nests on the chimney-tops; they are 
sometimes seen walking about in the fields, with 
a very grave and serious air, as if conscious of 
the estimation in which they are held. Every- 
body is out in the open air ; the woods, although 
they still look wintry, are filled with people, and 
the boatmen on the Main are busy ferrying gay 
parties across. The spring has been so long in 
coming, that all are determined to enjoy it well, 
while it lasts. 

We visited the cemetery a few days ago. The 
dead-house, where corpses are placed in the hope 
of resuscitation, is an appendage to cemeteries 
found only in Germany. We were shown in a 
narrow chamber, on each side of which were six 
cells, into which one could distinctly see, by 
means of a large plate of glass. In each of 
these is a bier for the body, directly above which 
hangs a cord, having on the end ten thimbles, 
which are put upon the fingers of the corpse, so 
that the slightest motion strikes a bell in the 
watchman's room. Lamps are lighted at night, 
and in winter the rooms are warmed. In the 
watchman's chamber stands a clock with a dial- 
plate of twenty-four hours, and opposite every 
hour is a little plate, which can only be moved 
two minutes before it strikes. If then the watch- 
man has slept or neglected his duty at that 
time, he cannot move it afterwards, and his 
neglect is seen by the superintendent. In such a 
case he is severely fined, and for the second or 
third offence dismissed. There are other rooms 
adjoining, containing beds, baths, galvanic bat- 
tery, &c. Nevertheless, they say there has been 
no resuscitation during the fifteen years it has 
been established. 

We afterwards went to the end of the cemetery 
to see the bas-reliefs of Thorwaldsen, in the vault 
of the Bethmann family. They are three in 
number, representing the death of a son of the 
present banker, Moritz von Bethmann, who was 



THE FRANKFORT CEMETERT. 135 

drowned in the Arno about fourteen years ago. 
The middle one represents the young man 
drooping in his chair, the beautiful Greek Angel 
of Death standing at his back, with one arm 
over his shoulder, while his younger brother is 
sustaining him, and receiving the wreath that 
drops from his sinking hand. The young woman 
who showed us these, told us of Thorwaldsen 's 
visit to Frankfort, about three years ago. She 
described him as a beautiful and venerable old 
man, with long white locks hanging over his 
shoulders, still vigorous and active for his years. 
There seems to have been much resemblance 
between him and Dannecker — not only in per- 
sonal appearance and character, but in the sim- 
ple and classical beauty of their works. 

The cemetery contains many other monu- 
ments; with the exception of one or two by 
Launitz, and an exquisite Death Angel in sand- 
stone, from a young Frankfort sculptor, they 
are not remarkable. The common tombstone 
is a white wooden cross; opposite the entrance 
is a perfect forest of them, involuntarily remind- 
ing one of a company of ghosts, with out- 
stretched arms. These contain the names of the 
deceased with mottoes, some of which are beau- 
tiful and touching, as for instance: " Through 
darkness unto light; " " Weep not for her; she 
is not dead, but sleepeth;" "Slumber sweet!" 
etc. The graves are neatly bordered with grass, 
and planted with flowers, and many of the 
crosses have withered wreaths hanging upon 
them. In summer it is a beautiful place ; in fact, 
the very name of cemetery in German — Friedhof 
or Court of Peace — takes away the idea of death ; 
the beautiful figure of the youth, with his 
inverted torch, makes one think of the grave 
only as a place of repose. 

On our way back we stopped at the Institute 
for the Deaf; for by the new method of teaching 
they are no longer dumb. It is a handsome 



136 VIEWS A-FOOT. 

building in the gardens skirting the city. We 
applied, and on learning we were strangers, they 
gave us permission to enter. On finding we were 
Americans, the instructress immediately spoke 
of Dr. Howe, who had visited the Institute a 
year or two before, and was much pleased to find 
that Mr. Dennett was acquainted with him. She 
took us into a room where about fifteen small 
children were assembled, and addressing one of 
the girls, said in a distinct tone: "These gentle- 
men are from America ; the deaf children there 
speak with their fingers — canst thou speak so? " 
To which the child answered distinctly, but with 
some effort: "No, we speak with our mouths." 
She then spoke to several others with the same 
success; one of the boys in particular, articu- 
lated with astonishing success. It was interest- 
ing to watch their countenances, which were 
alive with eager attention, and to see the 
apparent efforts they made to utter the words. 
They spoke in a monotonous tone, slowly and 
deliberately, but their voices had a strange, 
sepulchral sound, which was at first unpleasant 
to the ear. I put one or two questions to a lit- 
tle boy, which he answered quite readily; as I 
was a foreigner, this was the best test that could 
be given of the success of the method. We con- 
versed afterwards with the director, Avho received 
us kindly, and appointed a day for us to come 
and witness the system more fully. He spoke of 
Dr. Howe and Horace Mann, of Boston, and 
seemed to take a great interest in the introduc- 
tion of his system in America. 

We went again at the appointed time, and as 
their drawing teacher was there', we had an 
opportunity of looking over their sketches, 
which were excellent. The director showed us 
the manner of teaching them, with a looking- 
glass, in which they were shown the different 
positions of the organs of the mouth, and after- 
wards made to feel the vibrations of the throat 



A DEAF SCULPTOR. 137 

and breast, produced by trie sound. He took 
one of the youngest scholars, covered her eyes, 
and placing her hand upon his throat, articu- 
lated the second sound of A. She followed him, 
making the sound softer or louder as he did. 
All the consonants were made distinctly, by 
placing her hand before his mouth. Their exer- 
cises in reading, speaking with one another, and 
writing from dictation, succeeded perfectly. He 
treated them all like his own children, and 
sought by jesting and playing, to make the exer- 
cise appear as sport. They call him father and 
appear to be much attached to him. 

One of the pupils, about fourteen years old, 
interested me through his history. He and his 
sister were found in Sachsenhausen, by a Frank- 
fort merchant, in a horrible condition. Their 
mother had died about two years and a half 
before, and during all that time their father had 
neglected them till they were near dead through 
privation and filth. The boy was placed in this 
Institute, and the girl in that of the Orphans. 
He soon began to show a talent for modelling 
figures, and for some time he has been taking- 
lessons of the sculptor Launitz. I saw a beau- 
tiful copy of a bas-relief of Thorwaldsen which 
he made, as well as an original, very interesting, 
from its illustration of his history. It was in 
two parts ; the first represented himself and his 
sister, kneeling in misery before a ruined family 
altar, by which an angel was standing, who took 
him by one hand, while with the other he pointed 
to his benefactor, standing near. The other 
represented the two kneeling in gratitude before 
a restored altar, on which was the anchor of 
Hope. From above streamed down a light, 
where two angels were rejoicing over their hap- 
piness. For a boy of fourteen, deprived of one of 
the most valuable senses, and taken from such 
a horrible condition of life, it is a surprising work 
and gives brilliant hopes for his future. 



138 VIEWS A- FOOT. 

We went lately into the Boemberg, to see the 
Kaisersaal and the other rooms formerly used 
by the old Emperors of Germany, and their Sen- 
ates. The formerisnow in the process of restor- 
ation. The ceiling is in thegorgeous illuminated 
style of the middle ages ; along each side are rows 
of niches for the portraits of the Emperors, which 
have been painted by the best artists in Berlin, 
Dresden, Vienna and Munich. It is remarkable 
that the number of the old niches in the h all should 
exactly correspond with the number of the Ger- 
man Emperors, so that the portrait of the Em- 
peror Francis of Austria, who was the last, will 
close the long rank coming down from Charle- 
magne. The pictures, or at least such of them 
as are already finished, are kept in another 
room ; they give one a good idea of the changing 
styles of royal costumes, from the steel shirt and 
helmet to the jewelled diadem and velvet robe. 
I looked with interest on a painting of Frederic 
Barbarossa, by Lessing, and mused over the 
popular tradition that he sits with his paladins 
in a mountain cave under the Castle of Kyffhau- 
ser, ready to come forth and assist his Father- 
land in the hour of need. There was the sturdy 
form of Maximilian; the martial Conrad; and 
Ottos, Siegfrieds and Sigismunds in plenty — 
many of whom moved a nation in their day, but 
are now dust and forgotten. 

I yesterday visited Mendelssohn^ the celebrated 
composer. Having heard some of his music this 
winter, particularly that magnificent creation, 
the " Walpurgisnacht," I wished to obtain his 
autograph before leaving, and sent a note for 
that purpose. He sent a kind note in answer, 
adding a chorus out of the Walpurgisnacht from 
his own hand. After this I could not repress the 
desire of speaking with him. He received me 
with true German cordiality, and on learning I 
was an American, spoke of having been invited 
to attend a musical festival in New York. He 



SETTING OUT AGAIN. 139 

invited me to call on him if he happened to be 
in Leipsic or Dresden when we should pass 
through, and spoke particularly of the fine mu- 
sic there. I have rarely seen a man whose coun- 
tenance bears so plainly the stamp of genius. 
He has a glorious dark eye, and Byron's expres- 
sion of a "dome of thought," could never be 
more appropriately applied than to his lofty and 
intellectual forehead, the marble whiteness and 
polish of which are heightened by the raven hue 
of his hair. He is about forty years of age, in 
the noon of his fame and the full maturity of 
his genius. Already as a boy of fourteen he com- 
posed an opera, which was played with much 
success at Berlin ; he is now the first living com- 
poser of Germany. Moses Mendelssohn, the 
celebrated Jewish philosopher, was his grand- 
father ; and his father now living, is accustomed 
to say that in his youth he was spoken of as the 
son of the great Mendelssohn; now he is known 
as the father of the great Mendelssohn ! 



CHAPTER XVI. 

JOURNEY ON FOOT FROM FRANKFORT TO CASSEL. 

The day for leaving Frankfort came at last, 
and I bade adieu to the gloomy, antique, but 
still quaint and pleasant city. I felt like leaving 
a second home, so much had the memories of 
many delightful hours spent there attached me 
to it : I shall long retain the recollection of its 
dark old streets, its massive, devil-haunted 
bridge and the ponderous cathedral, telling of 
the times of the Crusaders. I toiled up the long 
hill on the road to Friedberg, and from the tower 
at the top took a last look at the distant city, 



140 VIEWS A- FOOT. 

with a heart heavier than the knapsack whose 
unaccustomed weight rested uneasily on my 
shoulders. Being alone— starting out into the 
wide world, where as yet I knew no one, — I felt 
much deeper what it was to find friends in a 
strange land. But such is the wanderer's lot. 

We had determined on making the complete 
tour of Germany on foot, and in order to vary 
it somewhat, my friend and I proposed taking- 
different routes from Frankfort to Leipsic. He 
chose a circuitous course, by way of Nurem- 
berg and the Thuringian forests; while I, whose 
fancy had been running wild with Goethe's 
Avitches, preferred looking on the gloom and 
grandeur of the rugged Hartz. We both left 
Frankfort on the 23d of April, each bearing a 
letter of introduction to the same person in 
Leipsic, where we agreed to meet in fourteen 
days. As we were obliged to travel as cheaply as 
possible, I started with but seventy-nine florins, 
(a florin is forty cents American) well knowing 
that if I took more, I should, in all probability, 
spend proportionably more also. Thus, armed 
with my passport, properly vised, a knapsack 
weighing fifteen pounds and a cane from the Ken- 
tucky Mammoth Cave, I began my lonely walk 
through Northern Germany. 

The warm weather of the week before had 
brought out the foliage of the willows and other 
early trees — violets and cowslips were springing 
up in the meadows. Keeping along the foot of 
the Taunus, I passed over great broad hills, 
which were brown with the spring ploughing, 
and by sunset reached Friedberg — a large city, 
on the summit of a hill. The next morning, 
after sketching its old, baronial castle, I crossed 
the meadows to Nauheim, to see the salt springs 
there. They are fifteen in number; the water, 
which is very warm, rushes up with such force as 
to leap several feet above the earth. The build- 
ings made for evaporation are nearly two miles 



Pallets of the latin. ki 

in length ; a walk along the top gives a delight- 
ful view of the surrounding valleys . After reach- 
ing the chaussee again, I was hailed by a wander- 
ing journeyman, or handwerker, as they are 
called, who wanted company. As I had con- 
cluded to accept all offers of this kind, we trudged 
along together very pleasantly. He was from 
Holstein, on the borders of Denmark and was 
just returning home, after an absence of six 
years, having escaped from Switzerland after the 
late battle of Luzerne, which he had witnessed. 
He had his knapsack and tools fastened on two 
wheels, which he drew after him quite conven- 
iently. I could not help laughing at the adroit 
manner in which he begged his way along, 
through every village. He would ask me to go 
on and wait for him at the other end ; after a few 
minutes he followed, with a handful of small 
copper money, which he said he had fought for, 
— the handwerker's term for begged. 

We passed over long ranges of hills, with an 
occasional view of the Vogelsgebirge, or Bird's 
Mountains, far to the east. I knew at length, 
by the pointed summits of the hills, that we 
were approaching Giessen and the valleys of the 
Lahn. Finally, two sharp peaks appeared in 
the distance, each crowned with a picturesque 
fortress, while the spires of Giessen rose from the 
valley below. Parting from my companion, I 
passed through the city without stopping, for it 
was the time of the university vacation, and Dr. 
Liebeg, the world-renowned chemist, whom I 
desired to see, was absent. 

Crossing a hill or two, I came down into the 
valley of the Lahn, which flows through mead- 
ows of the brightest green, with red-roofed cot- 
tages nestled among gardens and orchards upon 
its banks. The women here wear a remarkable 
costume, consisting of red boddice with white 
sleeves, and a dozen skirts, one above another, 
reaching only to the knees. I slept again at a 



142 views a- no or. 

little village among the hills, and started early 
for Marburg. The meadows were of the purest 
emerald, through which the stream wound its 
way, with even borders, covered to the water's 
edge With grass so smooth and velvety, that a 
fairy might have danced along on it for 
miles without stumbling over an uneven tuft. 
This valley is one of the finest districts in Ger- 
many. I thought, as I saw the peaceful inhabit- 
ants at work.in their fields, I had most proba- 
bly, on the battle-field of Brandywine, Avalked 
over the bones of some of their ancestors, whom 
a despotic prince had torn from their happy 
homes, to die in a distant land, fighting against 
the cause of freedom. 

I now entered directly into the heart of Hesse 
Cassel. The country resembled a collection of 
hills thrown together in confusion — sometimes a 
Avide plain left between them, sometimes a cluster 
of wooded peaks, and here and there a single" 
pointed summit rising above the rest. The 
v allies were green as ever, the hill-sides freshly 
ploughed and the forests beginning to be col- 
ored by the tender foliage of the larch and birch. 
I walked two or three hours at a " stretch," and 
then when I could find a dry, shady bank, I would 
rest for half an hour and finish some hastily- 
sketched landscape, or lay at full length, with 
my head on my knapsack, and peruse the coun- 
tenance of those passing by. The observation 
which every traveller excites, soon ceases to be 
embarrassing. It was at first extremely un- 
pleasant ; but I am now so hardened, that the 
strange, magnetic influence of the human eye, 
which Ave cannot avoid feeling, passes by me as 
harmlessly as if turned aside by invisible mail. 

During the day several showers came by, but 
as none of them penetrated further than my 
blouse, I kept on, and reached about sunset a 
little village in the valley. I chose a small inn, 
which had an air of neatness about it, and on 



WALKING W HESSE CASSEL. 143 

going in, the tidy landlady's " be you welcome," 
as she brought a pair of slippers for my swollen 
feet, made me feel quite at home. After being- 
furnished with eggs, milk, butter and bread, for 
supper, which I ate while listening to an animated 
discussion between the village schoolmaster 
and some farmers, I was ushered into a clean, 
sanded bedroom, and soon forgot all fatigue. 
For this, with breakfast in the morning, the bill 
was six and a half groschen — about sixteen 
cents ! The air was freshened by the rain and I 
journeyed over the hills at a rapid rate. Stopping 
for dinner at the village of Wabern, a boy at the 
inn asked me if I was going to America? I said 
no, I came from there. He then asked me many 
silly questions, after which he ran out and told 
the people of the village. When I set out again, 
the children pointed at me and cried: '"See 
there! he is from America! " and the men took 
off their hats and bowed ! 

The sky was stormy, which added to the 
gloom of the hills around, though some of the 
distant ranges lay in mingled light and shade — 
the softest alternation of purple and brown. 
There were many isolated, rocky hills, two of 
which interested me, through their attendant 
legends. One is said to have been the scene of a 
battle between the Romans and Germans, where, 
after a long conflict the rock opened and swal- 
lowed up the former. The other, which is 
crowned with a rocky wall, so like a ruined fort- 
ress, as at a distance to be universally mistaken 
for one, tradition says is the death-place of 
Charlemagne, who still walks around its summit 
every night, clad in complete armor. On ascend- 
ing a hill late in the afternoon, I saw at a great 
distance the statue of Hercules, which stands on 
the Wilhelmshohe, near Cassel. Night set in with 
a dreary rain, and I stopped at an inn about 
five miles short of the city. While tea was pre- 
paring a company of students came and asked 



144 VIEWS A- FOOT. 

for a separate room. Seeing I was alone, they 
invited me up with them. They seemed much 
interested in America, and leaving the table 
gradually, formed a ring around me, where I 
had enough to do to talk with them all at once. 
.When the omnibus came along the most of them 
went with it to Cassel; but five remained and 
persuaded mc to set out with them on foot. 
They insisted on carrying my knapsack the 
whole way, through the rain and darkness, and 
when 1 had passed the city gate with them, un- 
challenged, conducted me to the comfortable 
hotel, u Zur Krone." 

It is a pleasant thing to wake up in the morning 
in a strange city. Every thing is new ; you 
walk around it for the first time in the full enjoy- 
ment of the novelty, or the not less agreeable 
feeling of surprise, if it is different from your 
anticipations. Two of my friends of the previ- 
ous night called for me in the morning, to show 
me around the city, and the first impression, 
made in such agreeable company, prepossessed 
me very favorably. I shall not, however, take 
up time in describing its many sights, particu- 
larly the Frederick's Platz, where the statue of 
Frederick the Second, who sold ten thousand of 
his i subjects to England, has been re-erected, 
after having lain for years in a stable where it 
was thrown by the French. 

I was much interested in young Carl K , 

one of my new acquaintances. His generous 
and unceasing kindness first won my esteem, 
and I found on nearer acquaintance, the quali- 
ties of his mind equal those of his heart. I saw 
many beautiful poems of his which were of re- 
markable merit, considering his youth, and 
thought I could read in his dark, dreamy eye, 
the unconscious presentiment of a power he does 
not yet possess. He seemed as one I had known 
for years. 

He, with a brother student, accompanied me 



WILHELMSHOHE. 145 

in the afternoon, to Wilhelmshohe, the summer 
residence of the Prince, on the side of a range 
of mountains three miles west of the city. The 
road leads in a direct line to the summit of the 
mountain, which is thirteen hundred feet in 
height, surmounted by a great structure, called ; 
the Giant's Castle, on the summit of which is 
a pyramid ninety-six feet high, supporting a 
statue of Hercules, copied after the Farnese, and 
thirty-one feet in height. By a gradual ascent 
through beautiful woods, we reached the princely 
residence, a magnificent mansion standing on a 
natural terrace of the mountain. Near it is a 
little theatre built by Jerome Buonaparte, in 
which he himself used to play. We looked into 
the green house in passing, where the floial 
splendor of every zone was combined. There 
were lofty halls, with glass roofs, where the 
orange grew to a great tree, and one could sit 
in myrtle bowers, with the brilliant bloom of the 
tropics around him. It was the only thing there 
I was guilty of coveting. 

The greatest curiosity is the water-works, 
Avhich are perhaps unequalled in the world. The, 
Giant's Castle on the summit contains an im- 
mense tank in which water is kept for the pur- 
pose- but unfortunately, at the time I was 
there, the pipes, which had been frozen through 
the winter, were not in condition to play. From 
the summit an inclined plane of masonry de- 
scends the mountain nine hundred feet, broken 
every one hundred and fifty feet by perpendicu- 
lar descents. These are the Cascades, down 
which the water first rushes from the tank. 
After being again collected in a great basin at 
the bottom, it passes into an aqueduct, built like 
a Boman ruin, and goes over beautiful arches 
through the forest, where it falls into one sheet 
down a deep precipice. When it has descended 
several other beautiful falls, made in exact imi- 
tation of nature, it is finally collected and forms 



UQ VIEWS A FOOT. 

the great fountain, which rises twelve inches in 
diameter from the middle of a lake to the height 
of one hundred and ninety feet ! We descended 
by lovely walks through the forest to the Low- 
enburg, built as the ruin of a knightly castle, 
and fitted out in every respect to correspond 
with descriptions of a fortress in the olden time, 
with moat, drawbridge, chapel and garden of 
pyramidal trees. Farther below, are a few small 
houses, inhabited by the descendants of the Hes- 
sians who fell in America, supported here at the 
Prince's expense ! 



CHAPTER XVII. 

ADVENTURES AMONG THE HARTZ. 

On taking leave of Carl at the gate over the 
Gottingen road, I felt tempted to bestow a 
malediction upon travelling, from its merciless 
breaking of all links, as soon as formed. It was 
painful to think we should meet no more. The 
tears started into his eyes, and feeling a mist 
gathering over mine, I gave his hand a parting- 
pressure, turned my back upon Cassel and 
started up the long mountain, at a desperate 
rate. On the summit I passed out of Hesse into 
Hanover, and began to descend the remaining 
six miles. The road went down by many wind- 
ings, but 1 shortened the way considerably by a 
foot-path through a mossy old forest. The hills 
bordering the Weser are covered with wood, 
through which I saw the little red-roofed city of 
Miinden, at the bottom. I stopped there for the 
night, and next morning walked around the 
place. It is one of the old German cities that 
have not yet felt the effect of the changing spirit 



GOTTINGEN. 147 

of the age. It is still walled, though the towers 
are falling to ruin. The streets are narrow, 
crooked, and full of ugly old houses, and to 
stand in the little square before the public build- 
ings, one would think himself born in the six- 
teenth century. Just below the city the Werra 
and Fulda unite and form the Weser. The tri- 
angular point has been made into a public walk, 
and the little steamboat was lying at anchor 
near, waiting to start for Bremen. 

In the afternoon I got into the omnibus for 
Gottingen. The ride over the wild, dreary, mo- 
notonous hills was not at all interesting. There 
were two other passengers inside, one of whom, 
a grave, elderly man, took a great interest in 
America, but the conversation was principally 
on his side, for I had been taken with a fever at 
Miinden. I lay crouched up in the corner of the 
vehicle, trying to keep off the chills which con- 
stantly came over me, and Avishing only for Got- 
tingen, that I might obtain medicine and a bed. 
We reached it at last, and I got out with my 
knapsack and walked wearily through half a 
dozen streets till I saw an inn. But on entering, 
I found it so dark and dirty and unfriendly, 
that I immediately went out again and hired 
the first pleasant looking boy I met, to take me 
to a good hotel. He conducted me to the first 
one in the city. I felt a trepidation of pocket, 
but my throbbing head plead more powerfully, 
so I ordered a comfortable room and a physi- 
cian. The host, Herr Wilhelm, sent for Pro- 
fessor Trefurt, of the University, who told me I 
had over-exerted myself in walking. He made a 
second call the next day, when, as he was retir- 
ing, I inquired the amount of his fee. He begged 
to be excused and politely bowed himself 
out. I inquired the meaning of this of Herr 
Wilhelm, who said it was customary for trav- 
ellers to leave what they chose for the physician, 
as there was no regular fee. He added, more- 



148 VIEWS A-FOOT. 

over, that twenty groschen, or about sixty 
cents, was sufficient for the two visits ! 

I stayed in Gottingen two dull, dreary, miser- 
able days, without getting much better. I took 
but one short walk through the city, in which I 
saw the outsides of a few old churches and got a 
hard fall on the pavement. Thinking that the 
cause of my illness might perhaps become its 
cure, I resolved to go on rather than remain in 
the melancholy — in spite of its black-eyed maid- 
ens, melancholy — Gottingen. On the afternoon 
of the second day, I took the post to Nordheim, 
about twelve miles distant. The Gottingen val- 
ley, down which we drove, is green and beauti- 
ful, and the trees seem to have come out all at 
once. We were not within sight of the Hartz, 
but the mountains along the Weser were visible 
on the left. The roads were extremely muddy 
from the late rains, so that I proceeded but slowly. 

A blue range along the horizon told me of the 
Hartz, as I passed; although there were some 
fine side-glimpses through the hills, I did not see 
much of them till I reached Osterode, about 
twelve miles further. Here the country begins 
to assume a different aspect. The city lies in a 
narrow valley, and as the road goes down a 
steep hill towards it, one sees on each side many 
quarries of gypsum, and in front the gloomy 
pine mountains are piled one above another in 
real Alpine style. But alas! the city, though it 
looks exceedingly romantic from above, is one 
of the dirtiest I ever saw. I stopped at Herz- 
berg, six miles farther, for the night. The scenery 
was very striking; and its effect was much 
heightened by a sky full of black clouds, which 
sent down a hail-storm as they passed over. The 
hills are covered with pine, fir and larch. The 
latter tree, in its first foliage, is most delicate 
and beautiful. Every bough is like a long os- 
trich plume, and when one of them stands 
among the dark pines, it seems so light and airy 



SCENB&r OP TJlM HARTZ. 149 

that the wind might carry it away. Just oppo- 
site Herzberg*, the Hartz stands in its gloomy 
and mysterious grandeur, and I went to sleep 
with the pleasant thought that an hour's walk 
on the morrow would shut me up in its deep re- 
cesses. 

The next morning I entered them. The road 
led up a narrow mountain valley, down which a 
stream was rushing — on all sides were magnifi- 
cent forests of pine. It was glorious to look 
down their long aisles, dim and silent, with a 
floor of thick green moss. There was just room 
enough for the road and the wild stream which 
wound its way along between the hills, affording 
the most beautiful mountain-view along the 
whole route. As I ascended, the mountains be- 
came rougher and wilder, and in the shady hol- 
lows were still drifts of snow. Enjoying every- 
thing very much, I walked on without taking- 
notice of the road, and on reaching a wild, 
rocky chasm called the "Schlucht," was obliged 
to turn aside and take a footpath over a high 
mountain to Andreasberg, a town built on a 
summit two thousand feet above the sea. It is 
inhabited almost, entirely by the workmen in 
the mines. 

The way from Andreasberg to the Brocken 
leads along the Rehberger Graben, which carry 
water about six miles for the oreworks. After 
going through a thick pine wood, I came out on 
the mountain-side, where rough crags overhung 
the way above, and through the tops of the 
trees I had glimpses into the gorge below. It 
was scenery of the wildest character. Directly 
opposite rose a mountain wall, dark and stern 
through the gloomy sky; far below the little 
stream of the Oder foamed over the rocks with 
a continual roar, and one or two white cloud- 
wreaths were curling up from the forests. 

I followed the water-ditch around every pro- 
jection of the mountain, still ascending higher 



150 VIEWS A- FOOT. 

amid the same wild scenery, till at length I 
reached the Oderteich, a great dam, in a kind of 
valley formed by some mountain peaks on the 
side of the Brocken. It has a breastwork of 
granite, very firm, and furnishes a continual 
supply of water for the works. It began to rain 
soon, and I took a foot-path which went wind- 
ing up through the pine wood. The storm still 
increased, till everything was cloud and rain, so 
I was obliged to stop about five o'clock at 
Oderbruch, a toll-house and tavern on the side 
of the Brocken, on the boundary between Bruns- 
wick and Hanover — the second highest inhab- 
ited house in the Hartz. The Brocken was invis- 
ible through the storm and the weather for- 
boded a difficult ascent. The night was cold, 
but by a warm fire I let the winds howl and the 
rain beat. When I awoke the next morning, we 
were in clouds. They were thick on every side, 
hiding what little view there was through the 
openings of the forest. After breakfast, how- 
ever, they were somewhat thinner, and I con- 
cluded to start for the Brocken. It is not the 
usual way for travellers who ascend, being not 
only a bad road but difficult to find, as I soon 
discovered. The clouds gathered around again 
after I set out, and I was obliged to walk in a 
storm of mingled rain and snow. The snow lay 
several feet deep in the forests, and the path 
was, in many places, quite drifted over. The 
white cloud-masses were whirled past by the 
wind, continually enveloping me and shutting 
out every view. During the winter the path had 
become, in many places, the bed of a mountain 
torrent, so that I was obliged sometimes to 
wade knee-deep in snow, and sometimes to walk 
over the wet, spongy moss, crawling under the 
long, dripping branches of the stunted pines. 
After a long time of such dreary travelling, I 
came to two rocks called the Stag Horns, stand- 
ing on a little peak. The storm, now all snow, 



CLIMBING THE BROCKEN. 151 

blew more violently than ever, and the path be- 
came lost under the deep drifts. 

Comforting myself with the assurance that if 
I could not find it, I could at least make my 
way back, I began searching, and after some 
time, came upon it again. Here the forest 
ceased; the way led on large stones over a 
marshy ascending plain, but what was above, 
or on either side, I could not see. It was soli- 
tude of the most awful kind. There was 
nothing but the storm, which had already wet 
me through, and the bleak gray waste of rocks. 
It grew steeper and steeper; I could barely 
trace the path by the rocks which were worn, and 
the snow threatened soon to cover these. 
Added to this, although the walking and fresh 
mountain air had removed my illness, I was stiil 
weak from the effects of it, and the consequences 
of a much longer exposure to the storm was 
greatly to be feared. I was wondering if the 
wind increased at the same rate, how much 
longer it would be before I should be carried off, 
when suddenly something loomed up above me 
through the storm. A few steps more and I 
stood beside the Brocken House, on the very 
summit of the mountain! The mariner, who 
has been floating for days on a wreck at sea, 
could scarcely be more rejoiced at a friendly sail, 
than I Avas on entering the low building. Two 
large Alpine dogs in the passage, as I walked in, 
dripping with wet, gave notice to the inmates, 
and I was soon ushered into a warm room, 
where I changed my soaked garments for dry 
ones, and sat down by the fire with feelings of 
comfort not easily imagined. The old landloi d 
was quite surprised, on hearing the path by 
which I came, that I found the way at all. The 
summit was wrapped in the thickest cloud, and 
he gave me no hope for several hours of any 
prospect at all, so I sat down and looked over 
the Stranger's Album. 



152 VIEWS A-FOOT. 

I saw but two names from the United States — 
B. F. Atkins, of Boston, and C. A. Hay, from 
York, Pa. There were a great many long-winded 
German poems — among them, one by Schelling, 
the philosopher. Some of them spoke of having 
seen the "Spectre of the Brocken." I inquired of 
the landlord about the phenomenon ; he says in 
winter it is frequently seen, in summer more sel- 
dom. The cause is very simple. It is always 
seen at sunrise, when the eastern side of the 
Brocken is free from clouds, and at the same 
time, the mist rises from the valley on the oppo- 
site side. The shadow of every thing on the 
Brocken is then thrown in grand proportions 
upon the mist, and is seen surrounded with a 
luminous halo. It is somewhat singular that 
such a spectacle can be seen upon the Brocken 
alone, but this is probably accounted for by the 
formation of the mountain, which collects the 
mist at just such a distance from the summit as 
to render the shadow visible. 

Soon after dinner the storm subsided and the 
clouds separated a little. I could see down 
through the rifts on the plains of Brunswick, and 
sometimes, when they opened a little more, the 
mountains below us to the east and the adjoin- 
ing plains, as far as Magdeburg. It was like 
looking on the earth from another planet, or 
from some point in the air which had no connec- 
tion with it; our station was completely sur- 
rounded by clouds, rolling in great masses 
around us, now and then giving glimpses through 
their opening of the blue plains, dotted with 
cities and villages, far below. At one time when 
they were tolerably well separated, I ascended 
the tower, fifty feet high, standing near the 
Brocken House. The view on three sides was 
quite clear, and I can easily imagine what a 
magnificent prospect it must be in fine weather. 
The Brocken is only about four thousand feet 
high, nearly the same as the loftiest peak of the 



A BROCKEN NOSEGAT. 153 

Catskill, but being the highest mountain in 
Northern Germany, it commands a more exten- 
sive prospect. Imagine a circle described with a 
radius of a hundred miles, comprising thirty 
cities, two or three hundred villages and one 
whole mountain district! We could see Bruns- 
wick and Magdeburg, and beyond them the great 
plain which extends to the North Sea in one di- 
rection and to Berlin in the other, while directly 
below us lay the dark mountains of the Hartz, 
with little villages in their sequestered valleys. 
It was but a few moments I could look on this 
scene — in an instant the clouds swept together 
again and completely hid it. In accordance with 
a custom of the mountain, one of the girls made 
me a "Brocken nosegay," of heather, lichens 
and moss. I gave her a few pfennigs and 
stowed it away carefully in a corner of my knap- 
sack. 

I now began descending the east side, by a 
good road over fields of bare rock and through 
large forests of pine. Two or three bare brown 
peaks rose opposite with an air of the wildest 
sublimity, and in many places through the for- 
est towered lofty crags. This is the way by 
which Goethe brings Faust up the Brocken, and 
the scenery is graphically described in that part 
of the poem. At the foot of the mountain is the 
little village of Schiercke, the highest in the 
Hartz. Here I took a narrow path through the 
woods, and after following a tediously long road 
over the hills, reached Elbingerode, where I spent 
the night, and left the next morning for Blank - 
enburg. I happened to take the wrong road, 
however, and went through Rubeland, a little 
village in the valley of the Bode. There are 
many iron works here, and two celebrated 
caves, called "Baumann's Hohle," and "Biel's 
Hohle." I kept on, through the gray, rocky hills 
to Huttenrode, where I inquired the way to the 
Rosstrappe, but was directed wrong, and after 



154 VIEWS A- FOOT. 

Avalking nearly two hours in a heavy rain, ar- 
rived at Ludwigshiitte, on the Bode, in one of 
the wildest and loneliest corners of the Hartz. 
I dried my wet clothes at a little inn, ate a diu- 
der of bread and milk, and learning that I was 
just as far from the Rosstrappe as ever, aud 
that the way was impossible to find alone, I 
hunted up a guide. 

We went over the mountains through a fine 
old forest, for about two hours, and came out 
on the brow of a hill near the end of the Hartz, 
with a beautiful view of the country below and 
around. Passing the little inn, the path led 
through thick bushes along the summit, over a 
narrow ledge of rocks that seemed to stretchout 
into the air, for on either side the foot of the 
precipice vanished in the depth below. 

Arrived at last at the end, I looked around me. 
What a spectacle! I was standing on the end 
of a line of precipice which ran out from the 
mountain like a wall for several hundred feet — 
the hills around rising up perpendicularly from 
the gorge below, where the Bode pressed into a 
narrow channel foamed its way through. Sharp 
masses of gray rock rose up in many places from 
the main body like pillars, with trees clinging to 
the clefts, and although the defile was near seven 
hundred feet deep, the summits, in one place, 
were very near to one another. Near the point 
at which I stood, which was secured by a railing, 
was an impression in the rock like the hoof of a 
giant horse, from which the place takes its name. 
It is very distinct and perfect, and nearly two 
feet in length. 

I went back to the little inn and sat down to 
rest and chat awhile with the talkative landlady. 
Notwithstanding her horrible Prussian dialect, 
1 was much amused with the budget of wonders, 
which she keeps for the information of travellers. 
Among other things, she related to me the 
legend of the Rosstrappe, which I give in her own 



THE ROSSTRAPPE AND ITS LEGEND. 155 

words: "A great many hundred years ago, when 
there were plenty of giants through the world, 
there was a certain beautiful princess, who was 
very much loved by one of them. Now, although 
the parents of this princess were afraid of the 
giant, and wanted her to marry him, she herself 
hated him, because she was in love with a brave 
knight. But, you see, the brave knight could do 
nothing against the great giant, and so a day 
was appointed for the wedding of the princess. 
When they were married, the giant had a great 
feast and he and all his servants got drunk. So 
the princess mounted his black horse and rode 
away over the mountains, till she reached this 
valley. She stood on that square rock which 
you see opposite to us, and when she saw her 
knight on this side, where we are, she danced for 
joy, and the rock is called the Tanzpl&tz, to this 
very day. But when the giant found she had 
gone, he followed her as fast as he might ; then 
a holy bishop, who saw the princess, blessed the 
feet of her horse, and she jumped on it across to 
this side, where his fore feet made two marks in 
the rock, though there is only one left now. You 
should not laugh at this, for if there were giants 
then, there must have been very big horses too, 
as one can see from the hoofmark, and the valley 
was narrower then than it is now. My dear 
man, who is very old now, (you see him through 
the bushes, there, digging,) says it was so when 
he was a child, and that the old people living 
then, told him there was once four just such 
hoof-tracks, on the Tanzplatz, where the horse 
stood before he jumped over. And we cannot 
doubt the words of the good old people, for there 
were many strange things then, we all know, 
which the dear Lord does not let happen now. 
But I must tell you, lieber Herr, that the giant 
tried to jump after her and fell away down into 
the valley, where they say he lives yet in the 
shape of a big black dog, guarding the crown of 



156 VIEWS A-FOOT. 

the pri acess, which fell off as she was going over. 
But this part of the story is perhaps not true, 
as nobody, that I ever heard of, has seen either 
the black dog or the crown ! " 

After listening to similar gossip for a while, I 
descended the mountain-side, a short distance to 
the Biilowshohe. This is a rocky shaft that 
shoots upward from the mountain, having from 
its top a glorious view through the door which 
the Bode makes in passing out of the Hartz. 
I could see at a great distance the towers of 
Magdeburg, and further, the vast plain stretch- 
ing away like a sea towards Berlin. From 
Thale, the village below, where the air was 
warmer than in the Hartz and the fruit-trees 
already in blossom, it was four hours' walk to 
Halberstadt, by a most tiresome road over long- 
ranges of hills, all ploughed and planted, and 
extending as far as the eye could reach, without 
a single fence or hedge. It is pleasant to look 
over scenes where nature is so free and un- 
shackled ; but the people, alas ! wear the fetters. 
The setting sun, which lighted up theoldBrocken 
and his snowy top, showed me also Halberstadt, 
the end of my Hartz journey ; but its deceitful 
towers fled as I approached, and I was half dead 
with fatigue on arriving there. 

The ghostly, dark and echoing castle of an 
inn (the Black Eagle) where I stopped, was 
enough to inspire a lonely traveller, like my- 
self, with unpleasant fancies. It looked heav3 r 
and massive enough to have been a stout 
baron's stronghold in some former century ; the 
taciturn landlord and his wife, who, with a 
solemn servant girl, were the only tenants, had 
grown into perfect keeping with its gloomy 
character. When I groped my way under the 
heavy, arched portal into the guests' room — a 
large, lofty, cheerless hall — all was dark, and I 
could barely perceive, by the little light which 
came through two deep-set windows, the in- 



A SUSPICIOUS INN. 157 

mates of the house, sitting on opposite sides of 
the room. After some delay, the hostess 
brought a light. I entreated her to bring me 
something instantly for supper, and in half an 
hour she placed a mixture on the table, the like 
of which I never wish to taste again. She called 
it beer-soup I I found, on examination, it was 
beer, boiled with meat, and seasoned strongly 
with pepper and salt! My hunger disappeared, 
and pleading fatigue as an excuse for want of 
appetite, I left the table. When I was ready to 
retire, the landlady, who had been sitting 
silently in a dark corner, called the solemn ser- 
vant-girl, who took up a dim lamp, and bade 
me follow her to the " sleeping chamber." Tak- 
ing up my knapsack and staff, I stumbled down 
the steps into the arched gateway; before me 
was a long, damp, deserted court-yard, across 
which the girl took her way. I followed her 
with some astonishment, imagining where the 
sleeping chamber could be, when she stopped at 
a small, one-story building, standing alone in 
the yard. Opening the door with a rusty key, 
she led me into a bare room, a few feet square, 
opening into another, equally bare, with the ex- 
ception of a rough bed. "Certainly," said I, 
"I am not tosleep here!" "Yes," sheanswered, 
"this is the sleeping chamber," at the same 
time setting down the light and disappearing. 
I examined the place — it smelt mouldy, and the 
walls were cold and damp; there had been a 
window at the head of the bed, but it was 
walled up, and that at the foot was also closed 
to within a few inches of the top. The bed was 
coarse and dirty; and on turning down the 
ragged covers, I saw with horror, a dark brown 
stain near the pillow, like that of blood ! For a 
moment I hesitated whether to steal out of the 
inn, and seek another lodging, late as it was; 
at last, overcoming my fears, I threw my clothes 
into a heap, and lay down, placing my heavy 



158 VIEWS A- FOOT. 

staff at the head of the bed. Persons passed 
up and down the courtyard several times, the 
light of their lamps streaming through the nar- 
row aperture up against the ceiling, and I dis- 
tinctly heard voices, which seemed to be near 
the door. Twice did I sit up in bed, breathless, 
with my hand on the cane, in the most intense 
anxiety ; but fatigue finally overcame suspicion, 
and I sank into a deep sleep, from which I was 
gladly awakened by daylight. In reality, there 
may have been no cause for my fears — I may 
have wronged the lonely innkeepers by them; 
but certainly no place or circumstances ever 
seemed to me more appropriate to a deed of 
robbery or crime. I left immediately, and when 
a turn in the street hid the ill-omened front of 
the inn, I began to breathe with my usual 
freedom. 



CHAPTER XVIII. 

NOTES IN LEIPSIC AND DRESDEN. 

Leipsic, May 8. — I have now been nearly two 
days in this wide-famed city, and the more I see 
of it the better I like it. It is a pleasant, friendly 
town, old enough to be interesting, and new 
enough to be comfortable. There is much active 
business life, through which it is fast increasing 
in size and beauty. Its publishing establish- 
ments are the largest in the world, and its 
annual fair attended by people from all parts of 
Europe. This is much for a city to accomplish, 
situated alone in the middle of a great plain, 
with no natural charms of scenery or treasures 
of art to attract strangers. The energy and 
enterprise of its merchants have accomplished 



MAGDEBURG. 159 

all this, and it now stands, in importance, among 
the first cities of Europe. 

The bad weather obliged me to take the rail- 
road at Halberstadt, to keep the appointment 
with my friend, in this city. I left at six for 
Magdeburg, and after two hours' ride over a 
dull, tiresome plain, rode along under the mounds 
and fortifications by the side of the Elbe, and 
entered the old town. It was very cold, and the 
streets were muddy, so I contented myself with 
looking at the Broadway, (der breite Weg,) the 
Cathedral and one or two curious old churches, 
and in walking along the parapet leading to the 
fortress, which has a view of the winding Elbe. 
The Citadel was interesting from having been 
the prison in which Baron Trenck was confined, 
whose narrative I read years ago, when quite a 
child. 

We were soon on the road to Leipsic. The way 
was over one great, uninterrupted plain — a more 
monotonous country, even, than Belgium. Two 
of the passengers in the car with me were much 
annoyed at being taken by the railway agents for 
Poles. Their movements were strictly watched 
by the gens d'arme at every station we passed, 
and they were not even allowed to sit together! 
At Kothen a branch track went off to Berlin. 
We passed by Halle without being able to see 
anything of it or its University, and arrived 
here in four hours after leaving Magdeburg. 

On my first walk around the city, yesterday 
morning, I passed the Augustus PJatz—a broad 
green lawn, on which front the University and 
several other public buildings. A chain of beau- 
tiful promenades encircles the city, on the site of 
its old fortifications. Following their course 
through walks shaded by large trees and bor- 
dered with flowering shrubs, I passed a small but 
chaste monument to Sebastian Bach, the com- 
poser, which was erected almost entirely at the 
private cost of Mendelssohn, and stands oppo- 



160 VIEWS A- FOOT. 

site the building in which Bach once directed the 
choirs. As I was standing beside it, a glorious 
choral, swelled by a hundred voices, came through 
the open windows, like a tribute to the genius of 
the great master. 

Having found my friend we went together to 
the Stern Warte, or Observatory, which gives a 
fine view of the country around the city, and in 
particular the battle field. The Castellan who is 
stationed there, is well acquainted with the local- 
ities, and pointed out the position of the hostile 
armies. It was one of the most bloody and 
hard-fought battles which history records. The 
army of Napoleon stretched like a semicircle 
around the southern and eastern sides of the city, 
and the plain beyond was occupied by the allies, 
whose forces met together here. Schwarzenberg, 
with his Austrians, came from Dresden; Blucher, 
from Halle, with the Emperor Alexander. Their 
forces amounted to three hundred thousand, 
while those of Napoleon ranked at one hundred 
and ninety-two thousand men. It must have 
been a terrific scene. Four days raged the bat- 
tle, and the meeting of half a million of men in 
deadly conflict was accompanied by the thunder 
of sixteen hundred cannon. The small rivers 
which flow through Leipsic were swollen with 
blood, and the vast plain was strewed with more 
than fifty thousand dead. It is difficult to con- 
ceive of such slaughter, while looking at the 
quiet and tranquil landscape below. It seemed 
more like a legend of past ages, when ignorance 
and passion led men to murder and destroy, 
than an event which the last half century wit- 
nessed. For the sake of humanity it is to be 
hoped that the world will never see such another. 

There are some lovely walks around Leipsic. 
We went yesterday afternoon with a few friends 
to the Rosenthal, a beautiful meadow, bordered^ 
by forests of the German oak, very few of whose' 
Druid trunks have been left standing. There are 



BA TTI.E SCENES. 16l 

Swiss cottages embowered in the foliage, where 
every afternoon the social citizens assemble to 
drink their coffee and enjoy a few hours' escape 
from the noisy and dusty streets. One can walk 
for miles along these lovely paths by the side 
of the velvet meadows, or the banks of some 
shaded stream. We visited the little village of 
Golis, a short distance off. where, in the second 
story of a little white house, hangs the sign: 
" Schiller's Room." Some of the Leipsic literati 
have built a stone arch over the entrance, with 
the inscription above: "Here dwelt Schiller in 
1795, and wrote his Hymn to Joy." Every 
where through Germany the remembrances of 
Schiller are sacred. In ev y city where he lived, 
they show his dwelling. They know and rever- 
ence the mighty spirit who has been among 
them. The little room where he conceived that 
sublime poem is hallowed as if by the presence 
of unseen spirits. 

I was anxious to see the spot where Ponia- 
towsky fell. We returned over the plain to the 
city and passed in at the gate by which the 
Cossacks entered, pursuing the flying French. 
Crossing the lower part, we came to the little 
river Elster, in whose waves the gallant prince 
sank. The stone bridge by which we crossed 
was blown up by the French, to cut off pursuit. 
Napoleon had given orders that it should not be 
blown up till the Poles had all passed over, as 
the river, though narrow, is quite deep, and the 
banks are steep. Nevertheless, his officers did 
not wait, and the Poles, thus exposed to the 
fire of the enemy, were obliged to plunge into 
the stream to join the French army, which had 
begun the retreat towards Frankfort. Ponia- 
towsky, severely wounded, made his way 
through a garden near and escaped on horse- 
back into the water. He became entangled 
among the fugitives and sank. By walking a 
little distance along the road towards Frank- 



1G2 VIEWS A -FOOT. 

fort, we could see the spot where his body was 
taken out of the river ; it is now marked by a 
square stone, covered with the names of his 
countrymen who have visited it. We returned 
through the narrow arched way, by which Na- 
poleon fled when the battle was lost. 

Another interesting place in Leipsic is Auer- 
back's Cellar, which, it is said, contains an old 
manuscript history of Faust, from which Goethe 
derived the first idea of his poem. He used to 
frequent this cellar, and one of his scenes in 
"Faust" is laid in it. We looked down the 
arched passage; not wishing to purchase any 
wine, Ave could find no pretence for entering. 
The streets are full of book stores and one half 
the business of the inhabitants appears to con- 
sist in printing, paper-making and binding. 
The publishers have a handsome Exchange of 
their own, and during the Fairs, the amount of 
business transacted is enormous. The establish- 
ment of Brockhaus is contained in an immense 
building, adjoining which stands his dwelling, 
in the midst of magnificent gardens. That of 
Tauchnitz is not less celebrated. His edition of 
the classics, in particular, are the best that have 
ever been made; and he has lately commenced 
publishing a number of English works, in a 
cheap form. Otto Wigand, who has also a large 
establishment, has begun to issue translations 
of American works. He has already published 
Prescott and Bancroft, and I believe intends 
giving out shortly, translations from some of 
our poets and novelists. I becajme acquainted 
at the Museum , with a young German author 
who had been some time in America, and was 
well versed in our literature. He is now engaged 
in translating American works, one of which — 
Hoffman's "Wild Scenes of the Forest and 
Prairie" — will soon appear. In no place in Ger- 
many have I found more knowledge of our 
country, her men and her institutions, than in 



DRESDEN. 163 

Leipsic, and as yet I have seen few that would 
be preferable as a place of residence. Its attrac- 
tions lie not in its scenery, but in the social and 
intellectual character of its inhabitants. 

May 11. — At last in this "Florence of the 
Elbe," as the Saxons have christened it. Exclu- 
sive of its glorious galleries of art, which are 
scarcely surpassed by any in Europe, Dresden 
charms one by the natural beauty of its en- 
virons. It stands in the curve of the Elbe, in the 
midst of green meadows, gardens and fine old 
woods, with the hills of Saxony sweeping around 
like an amphitheatre, and the craggy peaks of 
the Highlands looking at it from afar. The 
domes and spires at a distance give it a rich 
Italian look, which is heightened by the white 
villas, embowered in trees, gleaming on the hills 
around. In the streets there is no bustle of 
business— nothing of the din and confusion of 
traffic which mark most cities; it seems like a 
place for study and quiet enjoyment. 

The railroad brought us in three hours from 
Leipsic, over the eighty miles of plain that in- 
tervene. We came from the station through the 
Neustadt, passing the Japanese Palace and the 
equestrian statue of Augustus the Strong. The 
magnificent bridge over the Elbe was so much 
injured by the late inundation, as to be impass- 
able ; we were obliged to go some distance up 
the river bank and cross on a bridge of boats. 
Next morning my first search was for the picture 
gallery. We set off at random, and after pass- 
ing the Church of Our Lad3^ with its lofty dome 
of solid stone, which withstood the heaviest 
bombs during the war with Frederick the Great, 
came to an open square, one side of which was 
occupied by an old, brown, red-roofed building, 
which 1 at once recognized, from pictures, as the 
object of our search. 

I have just taken a, last look at the gallery 
this morning, and left it with real regret; 



184 VIZ TVS A-FOOT. 

for, during the two visits, Kaphael's heavenly 
picture of the Madonna and child had so grown 
into my love and admiration, that it was pain- 
ful to think I should never see it again. There 
are many more which clung so strongly to my 
imagination, gratifying in the highest degree the 
love for the Beautiful, that I left them with sad- 
ness, and the thought that I would now only 
have the memory. I can seethe inspired eye and 
god-like brow of the Jesus-child, as if I were still 
standing before the picture, and the sweet, holy 
countenance of the Madonna still looks upon 
me. Yet, though this picture is a miracle of art, 
the first glance filled me with disappointment. 
It has somewhat faded during the three hundred 
years that have rolled away since the hand of 
Eaphael v/orked on the canvas, and the glass 
with which it is covered for better preservation, 
injures the effect. After I had gazed on it awhile, 
every thought of this vanished. The figure of 
the virgin seemed to soar in the air, and it was 
difficult to think the clouds were not in motion. 
An aerial lightness clothes her form, and it is 
perfectly natural for such a figure to stand 
among the clouds. Two divine cherubs look up 
from below, and in her arms sits the sacred child. 
Those two faces beam from the picture like those 
of augels. The wild, prophetic eye and lofty 
brow of the young Jesus chains one like a spell. 
There is something more than mortal in its ex- 
pression — something in the infant face which in- 
dicates a power mightier than the proudest man- 
hood. There is no glory around the head ; but 
the spirit which shines from those features, marks 
his divinity. In the sweet face of the mother 
there speaks a sorrowful foreboding mixed with 
its tenderness, as if she knew the world into 
which the Saviour was born, and foresaw the 
path in which he was to tread. It is a picture 
which one can scarce look upon without tears. 
There are in the same room six pictures by 



MO RE A ITS MONUMENT. 165 

Correggio, which are said to be among his 
best works ; one of them his celebrated Magdalen. 
There is also Correggio's "Holy Night," or the 
virgin with the shepherds in the manger, in 
which all the light comes from the body of the 
child. The surprise of the shepherds is most 
beautifully expressed. In one of the haJls there 
is a picture by Van der Werff, in which the 
touching story of Hagar is told more feelingly 
than words could do it. The young Ishmael is rep- 
resented full of grief at parting with Isaac, who, 
in childish unconsciousness of what has taken 
place, draws in sport the corner of his mother's 
mantle around him, and smiles at the tears of 
his lost playmate. Nothing can come nearer 
real flesh and blood than the two portraits of 
Raphael Mengs, painted by himself when quite 
young. You almost think the artist has in 
sport crept behind the frame, and wishes to 
make you believe he is a picture. It would be 
impossible to speak of half the gems of art con- 
tained in this unrivalled collection. There are 
twelve large halls, containing in all nearly two 
thousand pictures. 

The plain, south of Dresden, was the scene of 
the hard-fought battle between Napoleon and the 
allied armies, in 1813. On the heights above the 
little village of Racknitz,Moreauwas shot on the 
second day of the battle. We took a footpath 
through the meadows, shaded by cherry trees in 
bloom, and reached the spot after an hour's 
walk. The monument is simple — a square block 
of granite, surmounted by a helmet and sword, 
with the inscription, " The hero Moreau fell here 
by the side of Alexander, August 17th, 1813." 
I gathered as a memorial, a few leaves of the oak 
which shades it. 

By applying an hour before the appointed 
time, we obtained admission to the Royal 
library. It contains three hundred thousand 
volumes — among them the most complete collec- 



160 VIEWS A- FOOT. 

tion of historical works in existence. Each hall 
is devoted to a history of a separate country, 
and one large room is filled with that of Saxony 
alone. There is a large number of rare and 
curious manuscripts, amongwhich are old Greek 
works of the seventh and eighth, centuries ; a 
Koran which once belonged to the Sultan Baja- 
zet; the handwriting of Luther andMelancthon ; 
a manuscript volume with pen and ink sketches, 
by Albert Durer, and the earliest works after the 
invention of printing. Among these latter was 
a book published by Faust and Schaeffer, at 
Mayence, in 1457. There were also Mexican 
manuscripts, written on the Aloe leaf, and many 
illuminated monkish volumes of the middle ages. 
We were fortunate in seeing theGruneGewolbe, 
or Green Gallery, a collection of jewels and costly 
articles, unsurpassed in Europe. The entrance 
is only granted to six persons at a time, who 
pay a fee of two thalers. The customary way is 
to employ a Lohnbedienter, who goes around 
from one hotel to another, till he has collected 
the number, when he brings them together and 
conducts them to the person in the palace, who 
has charge of the treasures. As our visit hap- 
pened to be during the Pentecost holidays, when 
everybody in Dresden goes to the mountains, 
there was some difficulty in effecting this, but 
after two mornings spent in hunting up curious 
travellers, the servant finally conducted us in 
triumph to the palace. The first hall into which 
we were ushered, contained works in bronze. 
They were all small, and chosen with regard to 
their artistical value. Some by John of Bologna 
were exceedingly fine, as was also a group in 
iron, cut out of a single block ; perhaps the only 
successful attempt in this branch. The next 
room contained statues, and vases covered with 
reliefs, in ivory. The most remarkable work 
was the fall of Lucifer and his angels, containing 
ninety -two figures in all, carved out of a single 



ROYAL TREASURES. 167 

piece of ivory sixteen inches high! It was the 
work of an Italian monk, and cost him many 
years of hard labor. There were two tables of 
mosaic-work, that would not be out of place in 
the fabled halls of the eastern genii, so much did 
they exceed my former ideas of human skill. 
The tops were of jasper, and each had a border 
of fruit and flowers, in which every color was 
represented by some precious stonewall with the 
utmost delicacy and truth to nature! It is 
impossible to conceive the splendid effect it pro- 
duced. Besides some fine pictures on gold by 
Raphael Mengs, there was a Madonna, the larg- 
est specimen of enamel painting in existence. 

However costly the contents of these halls, 
they were only an introduction to those which 
followed. Each one exceeded the other in splen- 
dor and costliness. The walls were covered to 
the ceiling with rows of goblets, vases, &c, of 
polished jasper, agate and lapiz lazuli. Splendid 
mosaic tables stood around, with caskets of the 
most exquisite silver and gold work upon them, 
and vessels of solid silver, some of them weigh- 
ing six hundred pounds, were placed at the foot 
of the columns. We were shown two goblets, 
each prized at six thousand thalers, made of 
gold and precious stones; also the great pearl 
called the Spanish Dwarf, nearly as large as a 
pullet's egg ; globes and vases cut entirely out 
of the mountain crystal; magnificent Nuremberg 
watches and clocks, and a great number of 
figures, made ingeniously of rough pearls and 
diamonds. The officer showed us a hen's egg of 
silver. There was apparently nothing remark- 
able about it, but by unscrewing, it came apart, 
and disclosed the yelk of gold. This again 
opened and a golden chicken was seen: by touch- 
ing a spring, a little diamond crown came from 
the inside, and the crown being again taken 
apart, out dropped a valuable diamond ring! 
The seventh hall contains the coronation robes 



168 VIEWS A- FOOT. 

of Augustus II. j of Poland, and many costly 
specimens of carving in wood. A cherry-stone is 
shown in a glass case, which has one hundred 
and twenty-five faces, all perfectly finished, 
carved upon it ! The next room we entered sent 
back a glare of splendor that perfectly dazzled 
us. It was all gold, diamond, ruby and sap- 
phire! Every case sent out such a glow and 
glitter that it seemed like a cage of imprisoned 
lightnings. Wherever the eye turned it was met 
by a blaze of broken rainbows. They were there 
by hundreds, and every gem was a fortune. 
Whole cases of swords, with hilts and scabbards 
of solid gold, studded with gems; the great 
two-handed coronation sword of the German 
emperors; daggers covered with brilliants and 
rubies; diamond buttons, chains and orders, 
necklaces and bracelets of pearl and emerald, 
and the order of the Golden Fleece made in gems 
of every kind. We were also shown the largest 
known onyx, nearly seven inches long and four 
inches broad! One of the most remarkable 
works is the throne and court of Auruugzebe, 
the Indian king, by Dinglinger, a celebrated 
goldsmith of the last century. It contains one 
hundred and thirty-two figures, all of enamelled 
gold, and each one most perfectly and elabo- 
rately finished. It was purchased by Prince 
Augustus for fiffcy-eight thousand thalers,* which 
was not a high sum, considering that the mak- 
ing of it occupied Dinglinger and thirteen work- 
men for seven years. 

It is almost impossible to estimate the treas- 
ures these halls contain. That of the gold and 
jewels alone must be many millions of dollars, 
and the amount of labor expended on these toys 
of royalty is incredible. As monuments of pa- 
tient and untiring toil, they are interesting; 
but it is sad to think how much labor and skill 

*A Prussian or Saxon thaler is about 70 cents. 



SAXON SWITZERLAND. 169 

and energy have been wasted, in producing 
things which are useless to the world, and only 
of secondary importance as works of art. Per- 
haps, however, if men could be diverted by such 
play-things from more dangerous games, it 
would be all the better. 



CHAPTER XIX. 

RAMBLES IN THE SAXON SWITZERLAND. 

After four days' sojourn in Dresden we shoul- 
dered our knapsacks, not to be laid down again 
till we reached Prague. We were elated with the 
prospect of getting among the hills again, and 
we heeded not the frequent showers which had 
dampened the enjoyment of the Pentecost holi- 
days, to the good citizens of Dresden, and might 
spoil our own. So we trudged gaily along the 
road to Pillnitz and waved an adieu to the 
domes behind us as the forest shut them out 
from view. After two hours' walk the road led 
down to the Elbe, where we crossed in a ferry- 
boat to Pillnitz, the seat of a handsome palace 
and gardens, belonging to the King of Saxony. 
He happened to be there at the time, on an af- 
ternoon excursion from Dresden; as we had 
seen him before, in the latter place, we passed 
directly on, only pausing to admire the flower- 
beds in the palace court. The King is a tall, be- 
nevolent looking man, and is apparentry much 
liked by his. people. As far as I have yet seen, 
Saxony is a prosperous and happy country. 
The people are noted all over Germany for their 
honest, social character, which is written on 
their cheerful, open countenances. On our en- 
trance into the Saxon Switzerland, at Pillnitz, 



170 VIEWS A-FOOT. 

we were delighted with the neatness and homer 
like appearance of everything. Every body 
greeted us ; if we asked for information, they 
gave it cheerfully. The villages were all pleas- 
ant and clean and the meadows fresh and 
blooming. I felt half tempted to say, in the 
words of an old ballad, which I believe Longfel- 
low has translated : 

" The fairest kingdom on this earth, 
It is the Saxon land ! " 

Going along the left bank of the Elbe, we 
passed over meadows purple with the tri-colored 
violet, which we have at home in gardens, and 
every little bank was bright with cowslips. At 
length the path led down into a cleft or ravine 
filled with trees, whose tops were on a level Avith 
the country around. This is a peculiar feature 
of Saxon scenery. The country contains many 
of these clefts, some of which are several hun- 
dred feet deep, having walls of perpendicular 
rock, in whose crevices the mountain pine roots 
itself and grows to a tolerable height without 
any apparent soil to keep it alive. We de- 
scended by a foot-path into this ravine, called 
the Liebethaler Grund. It is wider than many 
of the others, having room enough for a con- 
siderable stream and several mills. The sides 
are of sandstone rock, quite perpendicular. As 
we proceeded, it grew narrower and deeper, 
while the trees covering its sides and edges 
nearly shut out the sky. An hour's walk 
brought us to the end, where we ascended grad- 
ually to the upper level again. 

After passing the night at the little village of 
Uttewalde, a short distance further, we set out 
early in the morning for the Bastei, a lofty pre- 
cipice on the Elbe. The way led us directly 
through the Uttewalder Grund, the most re- 
markable of all these chasms. We went down by 



THE BASTE I. 171 

steps into its depths, which in the early morn- 
ing were very cold. Water dripped from the 
rocks, which but a few feet apart, rose far 
above us, and a little rill made its way along 
the bottom, into which the sun has never shone. 
Heavy masses of rock, which had tumbled down 
from the sides lay in the way, and tall pine trees 
sprung from every cleft. In one place the defile 
is only four feet wide, and a large mass of rock, 
fallen from above, has lodged near the bottom, 
making an arch across, under which the trav- 
eller has to creep. After going under two or 
three arches of this kind, the defile widened, and 
an arrow cut upon a rock directed us to a side 
path, which branched off from this into a mount- 
ain. Here the stone masses immediately as- 
sumed another form. They projected out like 
shelves sometimes as much as twenty feet from 
the straight side, and hung over the way, look- 
ing as if they might break off every moment. 
I felt glad when we had passed under them. 
Then as we ascended higher, we saw pillars of 
rock separated entirely from the side and rising 
a hundred feet in height, with trees growing on 
their summits . They st o od there gray and time- 
worn, like the ruins of a Titan temple. 

The path finally led us out into the forest and 
through the clustering pine trees, to the summit 
of the Bastei. An inn has been erected in the 
woods and an iron balustrade placed around the 
rock. Protected by this, we advanced to the 
end of the precipice and looked down to the 
swift Elbe, more than seven hundred feet below ! 
Opposite through the blue mists of morning, 
rose Konigstein, crowned with an impregnable 
fortress, and the crags of Lilienstein, with a fine 
forest around their base, frowned from the left 
bank. On both sides were horrible precipices of 
gray rock, with rugged trees hanging from the 
crevices. A hill rising up from one side of the 
Bastei, terminates suddenly a short distance 



172 VIEWS A- FOOT. 

from it, in an abrupt precipice. In the inter- 
vening space stand, three or four of those rock- 
columns, several hundred feet high, with their 
tops nearly on a level with the Bastei. A wooden 
bridge has been made across from one to the 
other, over which the traveller passes, looking 
on the trees and rocks far below him, to the 
mountain, where a steep zigzag path takes him 
to the Elbe below. 

We crossed the Elbe for the fourth time at the 
foot of the Bastei, and walked along its right 
bank towards Konigstein. The injury caused 
by the inundation was everywhere apparent. 
The receding flood had left a deposit of sand, 
in many places several feet deep on the rich 
meadows, so that the labor of years will be req- 
uisite to remove it and restore the land to an 
arable condition. Even the farm-houses on the 
hillside, some distance from the river, had been 
reached, and the long grass hung in the highest 
branches of the fruit trees. The people were at 
Work trying to repair their injuries, but it will 
fall heavily upon the poorer classes. 

The mountain of Konigstein is twelve hundred 
feet in height. A precipice, varying from one to 
three hundred feet in height, runs entirely 
around the summit, which is flat, and a mile and 
a half in circumference. This has been turned 
into a fortress, whose natural advantages make 
it entirely impregnable. During the Thirty 
Years' War and the late war with Napoleon, it 
was the only place in Saxony unoccupied by the 
enemy. Hence it is used as a depository for the 
archives and royal treasures, in times of danger. 
By giving up our passports at the door, we re- 
ceived permission to enter; the officer called a 
guide to take us around the battlements. There 
is quite a little village on the summit, with gar- 
dens, fields, and a wood of considerable size. The 
only entrance is by a road cut through the rock, 
which is strongly guarded. A well seven hun- 



THE- FORTRESS OF KONTGSTETN. 173 

dred feet deep supplies the fortress with water, 
and there are storehouses sufficient to hold sup- 
plies for many years. The view from the ram- 
parts is glorious — it takes in the whole of the 
Saxon Highlands, as far as the lofty Schneeberg 
in Bohemia. On the other side the eye follows 
the windings of the Elbe, as far as the spires of 
Dresden. Lilienstein, a mountain of exactly 
similar formation, but somewhat higher, stands 
directly opposite. On walking around, the 
guide pointed out a little square tower standing 
on the bank of a precipice, with a ledge, about 
two feet wide, running around it, just below the 
windows. He said during the reign of Augustus 
the Strong, a baron attached to his court, rose 
in his sleep after a night of revelry, and stepping 
out of the window, stretched himself at full 
length along the ledge. A guard fortunately 
observed his situation and informed Augustus 
of it, who had him bound and secured with cords, 
and then awakened by music. It was a good 
lesson, and one which no doubt sobered him for 
the future. 

Passing through the little city of Konigstein, 
we walked on to Schandau, the capital of the 
Saxon Switzerland, situated on the left bank. 
It had sustained great damage from the flood, 
the whole place having been literally under 
water. Here we turned up a narrow valley 
which led to the Kuhstall, some eight miles dis- 
tant. The sides, as usual, were of steep graj 
rock, but wide enough apart to give room to 
some lovely meadows, with here and there a 
rustic cottage. The mountain maidens, in their 
bright red dresses, with a fanciful scarf bound 
around the head, made a romantic addition to 
the scene. There were some quiet secluded 
nooks, where the light of day stole in dimly, 
through the thick foliage above and the wild 
stream rushed less boisterously over the rocks. 
We sat down to rest in one of these cool re- 



174 VIEWS A- FOOT. 

treats, and made the glen ring with a cheer for 
America. The echoes repeated the name as if 
they had heard it for the first time, and I gave 
them a strict injunction to give it back to the 
next countryman who should pass by. 

As we advanced further into the hills the way 
became darker and wilder. We heard the sound 
of falling water in a little dell on one side, and 
going nearer, saw a picturesque fall of about 
fifteen feet. Great masses of black rock were 
piled together, over which the mountain-stream 
tell in a snowy sheet. The pines above and 
around grew so thick and close, that not a sun- 
beam could enter, and a kind of mysterious 
twilight pervaded the spot. In Greece it would 
have been chosen for an oracle. I have seen, 
somewhere, a picture of the Spirit of Poetry, 
sitting beside just such a cataract, and truly the 
nymph could choose no more appropriate dwell- 
ing. But alas for sentiment! while we were ad- 
miring its picturesque beauty, we did not notice 
a man who came from a hut near by and went 
up behind the rocks. All at once there was a 
roar of water, and a real torrent came pouring- 
down. I looked up, and lo! there he stood, 
with a gate in his hand which had held the water 
imprisoned, looking down at us to observe the 
effect. I motioned him to shut it up again, and 
he ran down to us, lest he should lose his fee for 
the "sight!" 

Our road now left the valley and ascended 
through a forest to the Kuhstall, which we 
came upon at once. It is a remarkable natural 
arch, through a rocky wall or rampart, one 
hundred and fifty feet thick. Going through, 
we came at the other end to the edge of a very 
deep precipice, while the rock towered precipi- 
tously far above. Below lay a deep circular 
valley, two miles in diameter, and surrounded 
on every side by ranges of crags, such as we 
saw on the Bastei. It was entirely covered with 



THE HIGHLANDS OF SAXONT. 175 

a pine forest, and there only appeared to be two 
or three narrow denies which gave it a commu- 
nication with the world. The top of the 
Kuhstall can be reached by a path which runs 
up through a split in the rock, directly to the 
summit. It is just wide enough for one person 
to squeeze himself through; pieces of wood 
have been fastened in as steps, and the rocks in 
many places close completely above. The place 
derives its name from having been used by the 
mountaineers as a hiding-place for their cattle 
in time of war. 

Next morning we descended by another crevice 
in the rock to the lonely valley, which we 
crossed, and climbed the Little Winterberg on 
the opposite side. There is a wide and rugged 
view from a little tower on a precipitous rock 
near the summit, erected to commemorate the 
escape of Prince Augustus of Saxony, who, be- 
ing pursued by a mad stag, rescued himself on 
the very brink, by a lucky blow. Among the 
many wild valleys that lay between the hills, we 
saw scarcely one without the peculiar rocky for- 
mation which gives to Saxon scenery its most 
interesting character. They resemble the re- 
mains of some mighty work of art, rather than 
one of the thousand varied forms in which 
Nature delights to clothe herself. 

The Great Winterberg, which is reached by 
another hour's walk along an elevated ridge, is 
the highest of the mountains, celebrated for the 
grand view from its summit. We found the 
handsome Swiss hotel receutly built there, full 
of tourists who had come to enjoy the scene, but 
the morning clouds hid every thing. We as- 
cended the tower, and looking between them as 
they rolled by, caught glimpses of the broad 
landscape below. The Giant's Mountains in 
Silesia were hidden by the mist, but sometimes 
when the wind freshened, we could see beyond 
the Elbe into Bohemian Switzerland, where the 



176 VIEWS A -FOOT. 

long Schneeberg rose conspicuously above the 
smaller mountains. Leaving the other trav- 
ellers to wait at their leisure for clearer weather, 
we set off for the Prebischthor, in company with 
two or three students from the Polytechnic 
School in Dresden. An hour's walk over high 
hills, whose forest clothing had been swept off 
by fire a few years before, brought us to it. 

The Prebischthor is a natural arch, ninety feet 
high, in a wall of rock Avhich projects at right 
angles from the precipitous side of the mount- 
ain. A narrow path leads over the top of the 
arch to the end of the rock, where, protected by 
a railing, the traveller seems to hang in the air. 
The valley is far below him — mountains rise up 
on either side — and only the narrow bridge con- 
nects him with the earth. We descended by a 
wooden staircase to the bottom of the arch, 
near which a rustic inn is built against the rock, 
and thence into the valley below, which we fol- 
lowed through rude and lonely scenery, the Hir- 
nischkretschen ( ! ) on the Elbe. 

Crossing the river again for the sixth and last 
time, we followed the right bank to Neidergrund, 
the first Austrian village. Here our passports 
were vised for Prague, and we were allowed to 
proceed without any examination of baggage. 
I noticed a manifest change in our fellow travel- 
lers the moment we crossed the border. They 
appeared anxious and careful ; if we happened 
to speak of the state of the country, they always 
looked around to see if anybody was near, and 
if we even passed a workman on the road, 
quickly changed to some other subject. They 
spoke much of the jealous strictness of the gov- 
ernment, and from what I heard from Austrians 
themselves, there may have been ground for 
their cautiousness. 

We walked seven or eight miles along the bank 
of the Elbe, to Tetschen, there left our compan- 
ions and took the road to Teplitz. The scenery 



BOHEMIA. 177 

was very picturesque; it must be delightful to 
float down the swift current in a boat, as we saw 
several merry companies do. The river is just 
small enough and the banks near enough 
together, to render such a mode of travelling 
delightful, and the strength of the current would 
carry one to Dresden in a day. 

I was pleasantly disappointed on entering 
Bohemia. Instead of a dull, uninteresting 
country, as I expected, it is a land full of the 
most lovely scenery. There is every thing which 
can gratify the eye — high blue mountains, val- 
leys of the sweetest pastoral look and romantic 
old ruins. The very name of Bohemia is associ- 
ated with wild and wonderful legends, of the rude 
barbaric ages. Even the chivalric tales of the 
feudal times of Germany grow tame beside these 
earlier and darker histories. The fallen fortresses 
of the Bhine, or the robber-castles of the Oden- 
wald had not for me so exciting an interest as 
the shapeless ruins cumbering these lonely 
mountains. The civilized Saxon race was left 
behind ; I saw around me the features and heard 
the language of one of those rude Sclavonic 
tribes, whose original home was on the vast 
steppes of Central Asia. I have rarely enjoyed 
travelling more than our first two days' journey 
towards Prague. The range of the Erzgebirge 
ran along on our right ; the snow still lay in 
patches upon it, but the valleys between, with 
their little clusters of white cottages, were green 
and beautiful. About six miles before reaching 
Teplitz, we passed Kulm, the great battle-field, 
which in a measure decided the fate of Napoleon. 
He sent Vandamme with 40,000 men to attack 
the allies before they could unite their forces, 
and thus effect their complete destruction. 
Only the almost despairing bravery of the Kus- 
sian guards under Ostermann, who held him in 
check till the allied troops united, prevented 
Napoleon's design. At the junction of the 



178 VIEWS A- FOOT. 

roads, where the fighting was hottest, the Aus- 
trians have erected a monument to one of their 
generals. Not far from it is that of Prussia, 
simple and tasteful. A woody hill near, with the 
little village of Kulm at its foot, was the station 
occupied by Vandamme at the commencement 
of the battle. There is now a beautiful chapel 
on its summit, which can be seen far and wide. 
A little distance further, the Emperor of Russia 
has erected a third monument to the memory of 
the Russians who fell. Four lions rest on the 
base of the pedestal, and on top of the shaft, 
forty-five feet high, Victory is represented as 
engraving the date, "Aug. 30, 1813," on a 
shield. The dark, pine-covered mountains on 
the right, overlook the whole field and the val- 
ley of Teplitz. Napoleon rode along their crests 
several days after the battle, to witness the 
scene of his defeat. 

Teplitz lies in a lovely valley, several miles 
wide, bounded by the Bohemian mountains on 
one side, and the Erzegebirge on the other. One 
straggling peak near is crowned with a pict- 
uresque ruin, at whose foot the spacious bath- 
buildings lie half hidden in foliage. As we went 
down the principal street, I noticed nearly every 
house was a hotel ; we learned afterwards that 
in summer the usual average of visitors is five 
thousand. The waters resemble those of the 
celebrated Carlsbad; they are warm and partic- 
ularly efficacious in rheumatism and diseases of 
like character. After leaving Teplitz, the road 
turned to the east, towards a lofty mountain, 
which we had seen the morning before. The 
peasants as they passed by, saluted us with 
" Christ greet you !" 

We stopped for the night at the foot of the 
peak called the Milleschauer, and must have 
ascended nearly 2,000 feet, for we had a wide 
view the next morning, although the mists and 
clouds hid the half of it. The weather being so 



LOBOSITZ AND THERESIENSTADT. 179 

unfavorable, we concluded not to ascend, and 
taking leave of the Jena student who came 
there for that purpose, descended through green 
fields and orchards snowy with blossoms, to 
Lobositz, on the Elbe. Here we reached the 
plains again, where every thing wore the luxu- 
riance of summer; it was a pleasant change from 
the dark and rough scenery we left. The road 
passed through Theresienstadt, the fortress of 
Northern Bohemia. The little city is surrounded 
by a double wall and moat, which can be filled 
with water, rendering it almost impossible to 
be taken. In the morning we were ferried over 
the Moldau, and after journeying nearly all day 
across barren, elevated plains, saw late in the 
afternoon the sixty-seven spires of Prague below 
us ! The dark clouds which hung over the hills, 
gave us little time to look upon the singular 
scene; and we were soon comfortably settled 
in the half-barbaric, half-Asiatic city, with a 
pleasant prospect of seeing its wonders on the 
morrow. 



CHAPTEK XX. 

SCENES IN PRAGUE. 

Prague. — I feel as if out of the world, in this 
strange, fantastic, yet beautiful old city. "We have 
been rambling all morning through its winding- 
streets, stopping sometimes at a church to see 
the dusty tombs and shrines, or to hear the fine 
music which accompanies the morning mass. 
I have seen no city yet that so forcibly reminds 
one of the past, and makes him forget every- 
thing but the associations connected with the 
scenes around him. The language adds to the 



180 VIEWS A-FOOT. 

illusion. Three-fourths of the people in the 
streets speak Bohemian and many of the signs 
are written in the same tongue, which is not at 
all like German. The palace of the Bohemian 
kings still looks down on the city from the west- 
ern heights, and their tombs stand in the Cathe- 
dral of the holy Johannes. When one has 
climbed up the stone steps leading to the fort- 
ress, there is a glorious prospect before him. 
Prague, with its spires and towers, lies in the 
valley below, through which curves the Moldau 
with its green islands, disappearing among the 
hills which enclose the city on every side. The 
fantastic Byzantine architecture of many of the 
churches and towers, gives the city a peculiar 
oriental appearance; it seems to have been 
transported from the hills of Syria. Its streets 
are full of palaces, fallen and dwelt in now by 
the poorer classes. Its famous University, 
which once boasted forty thousand students, 
has long since ceased to exist. In a word, it is, 
like Venice, a fallen city; though as in Venice, 
the improving spirit of the age is beginning to 
give it a little life, and to send a quicker stream 
through its narrow and winding arteries. The 
railroad, which, joining that to Briinn, shall bring 
it in connection with Vienna, will be finished 
this year ; in anticipation of the increased busi- 
ness which will arise from this, speculators are 
building enormous hotels in the suburbs, and 
tearing down the old buildings to give place to 
more splendid edifices. These operations, and 
the chain bridge which spans the Moldau to- 
wards the southern end of the city, are the only 
things which look modern — every thing else is 
old, strange and solemn. 

Having found out first a few of the locations, 
we hunted our way with difficulty through its 
labyrinths, seeking out every place of note or 
interest. Reaching the bridge at last, we con- 
cluded to cross over and ascend to the Hrad- 



JOHANNES OF NEPOMUCK. 1 81 

schin— the palace of tlie Bohemian kings. The 
bridge was commenced in 1357, and was one 
hundred and fifty years in building. That was 
the way the old Germans did their work, and 
they made a structure which' will last a thou- 
sand years longer. Every pier is surmounted 
with groups of saints and martyrs, all so worn 
and time-beaten, that there is little left of thei r 
beauty, if they ever had any. The most impor- 
tant of them, at least to Bohemians, is that of 
the holy "Johannes of Nepomuck," now consid- 
ered as the patron-saint of the land. He was a 
priest many centuries ago, whom one of the 
kings threw from the bridge into the Moldau, 
because he refused to reveal to him what the 
queen confessed. The legend says the body 
swam for some time on the river, with five stars 
around its head. The 16th of May, the day be- 
fore we arrived, was that set apart for his par- 
ticular honor; the statue on the bridge was 
covered with an arch of green boughs and 
flowers, and the shrine lighted with burning- 
tapers. A railing was erected around it, near 
which numbers of the believers were kneeling, 
and a priest stood in the inside. The bridge 
was covered with passers-by, who all took their 
hats off till they had passed. Had it been a 
place of public worship, the act would have 
been natural and appropriate, but to uncover 
before a statue seemed to us too much like 
idolatry, and we ventured over without doing- 
it. A few years ago it might have been danger- 
ous, but now we only met with scowling looks. 
There are many such shrines and statues 
through the city, and I noticed that the people 
always took off their hats and crossed them- 
selves in passing. On the hill above the western 
end of the city, stands a chapel on the spot 
where the Bavarians put an end to Protestant- 
ism in Bohemia by the sword, and the deluded 
peasantry of the land make pilgrimages to this 



182 VIEWS A- FOOT. 

spot, as if it were rendered holy by an act over 
which Eeligion weeps. 

Ascending the broad flight of steps to the 
Hradschin, I paused a moment to look at the 
scene below. A slight blue haze hung over the 
clustering towers, and the city looked dim 
through it, like a city seen in a dream. It was 
well that it should so appear, for not less dim 
and misty are the memories that haunt its walls. 
There was no need of a magician's wand to bid 
that light cloud shadow forth the forms of other 
times. They came uncalled for, even by fancy. 
Far, far back in the past, I saw the warrior- 
princess who founded the kingly city — the re- 
nowned Libussa, whose prowess and talent in- 
spired the women of Bohemia to rise at her 
death and storm the land that their sex might 
rule where it obeyed before. On the mountain 
opposite once stood the palace of the bloody 
"Wlaska, who reigned with her Amazon band for 
seven years over half Bohemia. Those streets 
below had echoed with the fiery words of Huss, 
and the castle of his follower — the blind Ziska, 
who met and defeated the armies of the German 
Empire — moulders on the mountain above. 
Many a year of war and tempest has passed 
over the scene. The hills around have borne the 
armies of Wallenstein and Frederic the Great ; 
the war-cry of Bavaria, Sweden and Poland has 
echoed in the valley, and the red glare of the 
midnight cannon or the flames of burning pal- 
aces have often gleamed along the "blood-dyed 
waters ' ' of the Moldau ! 

But this was a day-dream. The throng of 
people coining up the steps waked me out of it. 
We turned and followed them through several 
spacious courts, till Ave arrived at the Cathedral, 
which is magnificent in the extreme. The dark 
Gothic pillars, whose arches unite high above, 
are surrounded with gilded monuments and 
shrines, and the side chapels are rich in elabo- 



THE ST. NIC HO LAS CHURCH. 183 

rate decorations. A priest was speaking from a 
pulpit in the centre, in the Bohemian language, 
which not being the most intelligible, I went to 
the other end to see the shrine of the holy Jo- 
hannes of Nepomuck. It stands at the end of 
one of the side aisles and is composed of a mass 
of gorgeous silver ornaments. At a little dis- 
tance on each side, hang four massive lamps of 
silver, constantly burning. The pyramid of 
statues, of the same precious metal, has at each 
corner a richly carved urn, three feet high, with 
a crimson lamp burning at the top. Above, 
four silver angels, the size of life, are suspended 
in the air, holding up the corners of a splendid 
drapery of crimson and gold. If these figures 
were melted down and distributed among the 
poor and miserable people who inhabit Bohe- 
mia, they would then be angels indeed, bringing 
happiness and blessings to many a ruined home- 
altar. In the same chapel is thesplended burial- 
place of the Bohemian kings, of gilded marble 
and alabaster. Numberless tombs, covered 
with elaborate ornamental work, fill the edifice. 
It gives one a singular feeling to stand at one 
end and look down the lofty hall, dim with in- 
cense smoke and dark with the weight of many 
centuries. 

On the way down again, we stepped into the 
St. Nicholas Church, which was built by the Jes- 
uits. The interior has a rich effect, being all of 
brown and gold. The massive pillars are made 
to resemble reddish-brown marble, with gilded 
capitals, and the statues at the base are pro- 
fusely ornamented in the same style. The music 
chained me there a long time. There was a 
grand organ, assisted by a full orchestra and 
large choir of singers. It was placed above, and 
at every sound of the priest's bell, the flourish 
of trumpets and deep rolls of the drums filled 
the dome with a burst of quivering sound, while 
the giant pipes of the organ breathed out their 



184 VIEWS A-FOOT. 

full harmony and the very air shook under the 
peal. It was like a triumphal strain ; the soul 
became filled with thoughts of power and glory 
— every sense was changed into one dim, indis- 
tinct emotion of rapture, which held the spirit 
as if spell-bound. 1 could almost forgive the 
Jesuits the superstition and bigotry they have 
planted in the minds of men, for the indescriba- 
ble enjoyment that music gave. When it ceased, 
we went out to the world again, and the recol- 
lection of it seemed now like a dream — but a 
dream whose influence will last longer than 
many a more palpable reality. 

Not far from this place is the palace of Wallen- 
stein, in the same condition as when he inhab- 
ited it, and still in the possession of his descend- 
ants. It is a plain, large building, having beau- 
tiful gardens attached to it, which are open to 
the public. We went through the courtyard, 
threaded a passage with a roof of rough sta- 
lactitic rock, and entered the garden where a 
revolving fountain was casting up its glittering- 
arches. Among the flowers at the other end of 
the garden there is a remarkable fountain. It 
is but a single jet of water which rises from the 
middle of a broad basin of woven wire, but by 
some means it sustains a hallow gilded ball, some- 
times for many minutes at a time. When the 
ball drops, the sloping sides of the basin convey 
it directly to the fountain again, and it is car- 
ried up to dance a while longer on the top of the 
jet. I watched it once, thus supported on the 
water, for full fifteen minutes. 

There is another part of Prague which is not 
less interesting, though much less poetical — the 
Jews' City. In our rambles we got into it before 
we were aware, but hurried immediately out 
of it again, perfectly satisfied with one visit. We 
came first into a dark, narrow street, whose 
sides were lined with booths of old clothes and 
second-hand articles. A sharp featured old 



THE JEWS' QUARTER. 185 

woman thrust a coat before my face, exclaiming, 
"Herr, buy a fine coat!" Instantly a man 
assailed me on the other side, " Here are vests ! 
pantaloons! shirts!" I broke loose from them 
and ran on, but it only became worse. One 
seized me by the arm, crying-, "Lieber Herr, 
buy some stockings!" and another grasped 
my coat: "Hats, Herr! hats! buy something 
or sell me something!" I rushed desperately 
ou, shouting, "no! no!" with all my might, 
and finally got safe through. My friend having 
escaped their clutches also, we hunted the way 
to the old Jewish cemetery. This stands in the 
middle of the city, and has not been used for a 
hundred years. We could find no entrance, but 
by climbing upon the ruins of an old house near, 
I could look over the wall. A cold shudder crept 
over me, to think that warm, joyous Life, as I 
then felt it, should grow chill and pass back to 
clay in such a foul charnel-house. Large 
mounds of earth, covered with black, decaying 
grave-stones, which were almost hidden under 
the weeds and rank grass, filled the inclosure. A 
few dark, crooked, alder trees grew among the 
crumbling tombs, and gave the scene an air of 
gloom and desolation, almost fearful. The 
dust of many a generation lies under these 
mouldering stones ; they now scarcely occupy a 
thought in the minds of the living ; and yet the 
present race toils and seeks for wealth alone, 
that it may pass away and leave nothing behind 
—not even a memory for that which will follow it. 



186 VIEWS A- FOOT. 



CHAPTER XXI. 

JOURNEY THROUGH EASTERN BOHEMIA AND MO- 
RAVIA TO THE DANUBE. 

Our road the first two days after leaving 
Prague, led across broad, elevated plains, across 
which a cold wind came direct from the summits 
of the Riesengebirge, far to our left. Were it not 
for the pleasant view we had of the rich valley of 
the Upper Elbe, which afforded a delightful relief 
to the monotony of the hills around us, the 
journey would have been exceedingly tiresome. 
The snow still glistened on the distant mount- 
ains; but when the sun shone out, the broad 
valley below, clad in the luxuriance of summer, 
and extending for at least fifty miles with its 
woods, meadows and white villages, looked like 
a real Paradise. The long ridges over which 
we travelled extend for nearly a hundred and 
fifty miles — from the Elbe almost to the Danube. 
The soil is not fertile, the inhabitants are ex- 
ceedingly poor, and from our own experience, 
the climate must be unhealthy. In winter the 
country is exposed to the full sweep of the north- 
ern winds, and in summer the sun shines down 
on it with unbroken force. There are few 
streams running through it, and the highest, 
part, which divides the waters of the Baltic from 
those of the Black Sea, is filled for a long dis- 
tance with marshes and standing pools, whose 
exhalations must inevitably subject the inhabit- 
ants to disease. This was perceptible in their 
sallow, sickly countenances; many of the women 
are afflicted with the goitre, or swelling of the 
throat ; I noticed that towards evening they al- 



BOHEMIAN WAT SIDE SHRINES. 187 

ways carefully muffled up their faces. Accord- 
ing to their own statements, the people suffer 
much from the cold in winter, as the few forests 
the country affords are in possession of the 
noblemen to whom the land belongs, and they 
are not willing to let them be cut down. The 
dominions of these petty despots are marked 
along the road with as much precision as the 
boundaries of an empire; we saw sometimes 
their stately castles at a distance, forming quite 
a contrast to the poor scattering villages of the 
peasants. 

At Kollin, the road, which had been running 
eastward in the direction of Olmutz, turned to 
the south, and we took leave of the Elbe, after 
tracing back his course from Magdeburg nearly 
to his home in the mountains of Silesia. The 
country was barren and monotonous, but a 
bright sunshine made it look somewhat cheerful. 
We passed every few paces, some shrine or 
statue by the roadside. This had struck me, im- 
mediately on crossing the border, in the Saxon 
Switzerland — it seemed as if the boundary of 
Saxony was that of Protestantism. But herein 
the heart of Bohemia, the extent to which this 
image worship is carried, exceeds anything I 
had imagined. There is something pleasing as 
well as poetical in the idea of a shrine by the 
wayside, where the weary traveller can rest, and 
raise his heart in thankfulness to the Power 
that protects him; it was no doubt a pious spirit 
that placed them there; but the people appear to 
pay the reverence to the picture which they 
should give to its spiritual image, and the pict- 
ures themselves are so shocking and ghastly, 
they seem better calculated to excite horror 
than reverence. It was really repulsive to look 
on images of the Saviour covered with blood, and 
generally with swords sticking in different parts 
of the body. The Almighty is represented as an 
old man, wearing a Bishop's mitre, and the 



1SS VIEWS A-FOOT. 

image of the "Virgin is always clrest in a gay 
silk robe, with beads and other ornaments. 
From the miserable painting, the faces often had 
an expression that would have been exceedingly 
ludicrous, if the shock given to our feelings of 
reverence were not predominant. The poor, de- 
graded peasants always uncovered or crossed 
themselves when passing by these shrines, but it 
appeared to be rather the effect of habit than 
any good impulse, for the Bohemians are noted 
all over Germany for their dishonesty; we learned 
by experience they deserve it. It is not to be 
wondered at either; for a people so poor and 
miserable and oppressed will soon learn to take 
advantage of all who appear better off than 
themselves. They had one custom which was 
touching and beautiful. At the sound of the 
church bell, as it rung the morning, noon and 
evening chimes, every one uncovered, and re- 
peated to himself a prayer. Often, as we rested 
at noon on a bank by the roadside, that voice 
spoke out from the house of worship and every 
one heeded its tone. Would that to this innate 
spirit of reverence were added the light of 
Knowledge, which a tyrannical government de- 
nies them ! 

The third night of our journey we stopped at 
the little village of Stecken, and the next morn- 
ing, after three hours' walk over the ridgy 
heights, reached the old Moravian city of Iglau, 
built on a hill. It happened to be Corpus 
Christi day, and the peasants of the neighbor- 
hood were hastening there in their gayest 
dresses. The young women wore a crimson 
scarf around the head, with long fringed and em- 
broidered ends hanging over the shoulders, or 
falling in one smooth fold from the back of the 
head. They were attired in black velvet vests, 
with full white sleeves and skirts of some gay 
color, which were short enough to show to ad- 
vantage their red stockings and polished shoe- 



STRANGE TEAMS. 189 

buckles. Many of them were not deficient in 
personal beauty — there was a gipsy-like wildness 
in their eyes, that combined with their rich hair 
and graceful costume, reminded me of the Italian 
maidens. The towns too, with their open 
squares and arched passages, have quite a 
southern look; but the damp, gloomy weather 
was enough to dispel any illusion of this kind. 

In the neighborhood of Iglau, and in fact, 
through the whole of Bohemia, we saw some of 
the strangest teams that could well be imagined . 
I thought the Frankfort milkwomen with their 
donkeys and hearse-like carts, were comical ob- 
jects enough, but they bear no comparison with 
these Bohemian turn-outs. Dogs — for econo- 
my's sake, perhaps — generally supply the place 
of oxen or horses, and it is no uncommon thing 
to see three large mastiffs abreast, harnessed to 
a country cart. A donkey and a cow together, 
are sometimes met with, and one man, going to 
the festival at Iglau, had his wife and children in 
a little wagon, drawn by a dog and a donkey. 
These two, how r ever, did not work well together ; 
the dog would bite his lazy companion, and the 
man's time was constantly employed in whip- 
ping him off the donkey, and in whipping the 
donkey away from the side of the road. Once I 
saw a wagon drawn by a dog, with a woman 
pushing behind, w r hile a man, doubtless her lord 
and master, sat comfortably within, smoking 
his pipe with the greatest complacency! The 
very climax of all was a woman and a dog har- 
nessed together, taking a load of country pro- 
duce to market! I hope, for the honor of the 
country, it was not emblematic of woman's con- 
dition there. But as we saw hundreds of them 
breaking stone along the road, and occupied at 
other laborious and not less menial labor, there 
is too much reason to fear that it is so. 

As we approached Iglau, we heard cannon 
firing; the crowd increased, and following the 



190 VIEWS A- FOOT. 

road, we came to an open square, where a large 
number were already assembled ; shrines were 
erected around it, hung with pictures and pine 
boughs, and a long procession of children was 
passing down the side as we entered. We went 
towards the middle, where Neptune and his Tri- 
tons poured the water from their urns into two 
fountains, and stopped to observe the scene. 
The procession came on, headed by a large body 
of priests, in white robes, with banners and 
crosses. They stopped before the principal 
shrine, in front of the Rathhaus, and began a 
solemn religious ceremony. The whole crowd of 
not less than ten thousand persons, stood silent 
and uncovered, and the deep voice of the offi- 
ciating priest was heard over the whole square. 
At times the multitude sang responses, and I 
could mark the sound, swelling and rolling up 
like a mighty wave, till it broke and slowly sank 
down again to the deepest stillness. The effect 
was marred by the rough voice of the officers 
commanding the soldiery, and the volleys of 
musquetry which were occasionally discharged. 
It degraded the solemnity of the pageant to the 
level of a military parade. 

In the afternoon we were overtaken by a trav- 
elling handwerker, on his way to Vienna, who 
joined company with us. We walked several 
miles together, talking on various matters, 
without his having the least suspicion we were 
not Germans. He had been at Trieste, and at 
length began speaking of the great beauty of 
the American vessels there. "Yes," said I, "our 
vessels are admired all over the world." He 
stared at me without comprehending; — "your 
vessels?" "Our country's," I replied; "we are 
Americans ! " I can see still his look of incred- 
ulous astonishment and hear the amazed tone 
with which he cried: "You Americans — it is im- 
possible!" We convinced him nevertheless, to 
his great joy, for all through Germany there is a 



THE WANDERING JOURNEYMAN. 191 

curiosity to see our countrymen and a kindly 
feeling towards them. "I shall write down 
in my book," said he, " so that I shall never for- 
get it, that I once travelled with two Ameri- 
cans!" We stopped together for the night at 
the only inn in a large, beggarly village, where 
we obtained a frugal supper with difficulty, for 
a regiment of Polish lancers was quartered there 
for the night, and the pretty Kellnerin was so 
busy in waiting on the officers that she had no 
eye for wandering journeymen, as she took us to 
be. She even told us the beds were all occupied 
and we must sleep on the floor. Just then the 
landlord came by. "Is it possible, Herr Land- 
lord," asked our new companion, "that there is 
no bed here for us? Have the goodness to look 
again, for we are not in the habit of sleeping on 
the floor like dogs ! " This speech had its effect, 
for the Kellnerin was commanded to find us 
beds. She came back unwillingly after a time 
and reported that two only, were vacant. As a 
German bed is only a yard wide, we pushed these 
two together, but they were still too small for 
three persons, and I had a severe cold in the 
morning, from sleeping crouched up against the 
damp wall. 

The next day we passed the dividing ridge 
which separates the waters of the Elbe from the 
Danube, and in the evening arrived at Znaim, 
the capital of Moravia. It is built on a steep 
hill looking down on the valley of the Thaya, 
whose waters mingle with the Danube near 
Pressburg. The old castle on the height near, 
was formerly the residence of the Moravian 
monarchs, and traces of the ancient walls and 
battlements of the city are still to be seen. The 
handwerker took us to the inn frequented by his 
craft — the leather-curriers — and we conversed to- 
gether till bed-time. While telling me of the op- 
pressive laws of Austria, the degrading vassal- 
age of the peasants and the horrors of the con- 



192 VIEWS A- FOOT. 

scription system, he paused as in deep thought, 
and looking at me with a suppressed sigh, said : 
"Is it not true, America is free?" I told him of 
our country and her institutions, adding that 
though we were not yet as free as we hoped and 
wished to be, we enjoyed far more liberty than 
any country in the world. "Ah !" said he, ■• it in 
hard to leave one's fatherland oppressed as it is, 
but I wish I could go to America!" 

We left next morning at eight o'clock, after 
having done full justice to the beds of the 
"Golden Stag," and taken leave of Florian 
Francke, the honest and hearty old landlord. 
Znaim appears to great advantage from the 
Vienna road; the wind which blew with fury 
against our backs, would not permit us to look 
long at it, but pushed us on towards the Aus- 
trian border. In the course of three hours we 
were obliged to stop at a little village ; it blew a 
perfect hurricane and the rain began to soak 
through our garments. Here we stayed three 
hours among the wagoners who stopped on ac- 
count of the weather. One miserable, drunken 
wretch, whom one would not wish to look at 
more than once, distinguished himself by insult- 
ing those around him, and devouring like a 
beast, large quantities of food. When the reck- 
oning was given him, he declared he had al- 
ready paid, and the waiter denying it, he said, 
"Stop, I will show you something!" pulled out 
his passport and pointed to the name — "Baron 
von Reitzenstein." It availed nothing ; he had 
fallen so low that his title inspired no respect, 
and when we left the inn they were still endeav- 
oring to get their money and threatening him 
with a summary proceeding if the demand was 
not complied with. 

Next morning the sky was clear and a glorious 
day opened before us. The country became 
more beautiful as we approached the Danube; 
the hills were covered with vineyards, just in the 



THE ALPS AND THE DANUBE. 193 

tender green of their first leaves, and the rich 
valleys lay in Sabbath stillness in the warm sun- 
shine. Sometimes from an eminence we could 
see far and wide over the garden-like slopes, 
where little white villages shone among the 
blossoming fruit-trees. A chain of blue hills 
rose in front, which I knew almost instinctively 
stood by the Danube; when we climbed to the 
last height and began to descend to the valley, 
where the river was still hidden by luxuriant 
groves, I saw far to the southwest, a range of 
faint, silvery summits, rising through the dim 
ether like an airy vision. There was no mistak- 
ing those snowy mountains. My heart bounded 
with a sudden thrill of rapturous excitement at 
this first view of the Alps! They were at a 
great distance, and their outline was almost 
blended with the blue drapery of air which 
clothed them. I gazed till my vision became 
dim and I could no longer trace their airy lines. 
They called up images blended with the- grandest 
events in the world's history. I thought of the 
glorious spirits who have looked upon them and 
trodden their rugged sides — of the storms in 
which they veil their countenances, and the 
avalanches they hurl thundering to the valleys 
— of the voices of great deeds, which have 
echoed from their crags over the wide earth — 
and of the ages, which have broken, like the 
waves of a mighty sea, upon their everlasting 
summits ! 

As we descended, the hills and forests shut out 
this sublime vision, and I looked to the wood- 
clothed mountains opposite and tried to catch a 
glimpse of the current that rolled at their feet. 
We here entered upon a rich plain, about ten 
miles in diameter, which lay between a backward 
sweep of the hills and a curve of the Danube. It 
was covered with the richest grain ; every thing 
wore the luxuriance of summer, and we seemed to 
have changed seasons since leaving the dreary 



194 VIEWS A- FOOT. 

hills of Bohemia. Continuing over the plain, we 
had on our left the fields of Wagram and Essling, 
the scene of two of Napoleon's blood-bought vic- 
tories. The outposts of the Carpathians skirted 
the horizon — that great mountain range which 
stretches through Hungary to the borders of 
Russia. 

At length the road came to the river's side, and 
we crossed on wooden bridges over two or three 
arms of the Danube, all of which together were 
little wider than the Schuylkill at Philadelphia. 
When we crossed the last bridge, we came to a 
kind of island covered with groves of the silver 
ash. Crowds of people filled the cool walks; 
booths of refreshment stood by the roadside, and 
music was everywhere heard. The road finally 
terminated in a circle, where beautiful alleys ra- 
diated into the groves; from the opposite side of 
a broad street lined with stately buildings ex- 
tended into the heart of the city, and through 
this avenue, filled with crowds of carriages and 
people on their way to those delightful walks, we 
entered Vienna ! 



CHAPTER XXII. 

VIENNA. 

May 31. — I have at last seen the thousand 
wonders of this great capital — this German Paris 
— this connecting-link between the civilization of 
Europe and the barbaric magnificence of the East. 
It looks familiar to be in a city again, whose 
streets are thronged with people, and resound 
with the din and bustle of business. It reminds 
me of the never-ending crowds of London, or the 
life and tumult of our scarcely less active New 



• VIENNA. 195 

York. Although the end may be sordid for 
which so many are laboring, yet the very sight 
of so much activity is gratifying. It is pecul- 
iarly so to an American. After residing in a for- 
eign land for some time, the peculiarities of our 
nation are more easily noticed; I find in my 
countrymen abroad a vein of restless energy — a 
love for exciting action — which to many of our 
good German friends is perfectly incomprehensi- 
ble. It might have been this which gave at once 
a favorable impression of Vienna. 

The morning of our arrival we sallied out 
from our lodgings in the Leopoldstadt, to ex- 
plore the world before us. Entering the broad 
Praterstrasse, we passed down to the little arm 
of the Danube, which separates this part of the 
new city from the old. A row of magnificent 
coffee-houses occupy the bank, and numbers 
of persons were taking their breakfasts in the 
shady porticoes. The Ferdinand's Bridge which 
crosses the stream, was filled with people; in the 
motley crowd we saw the dark-eyed Greek, and 
Turks in their turbans and flowing robes. Little 
brown Hungarian boys were going around, sell- 
ing bunches of lilies, and Italians with baskets of 
oranges stood by the side-walk. The throng be- 
came greater as we penetrated into the old city. 
The streets were filled with carts and carriages, 
and as there are no side-pavements, it required 
constant attention to keep out of their way. 
Splendid shops, fitted up with great taste, occu- 
pied the whole of the lower stories, and goods of 
all kinds hung beneath the canvas awnings in 
front of them. Almost every store or shop was 
dedicated to some particular person or place, 
which was represented on a large panel by the 
door. The number of these paintings added 
much to the splendor of the scene; I was grati- 
fied to find, among the images of kings and 
dukes, one dedicated " to the American," with 

an Indian chief in full costume. 

7 



196 VIEWS A- FOOT. • 

The Altstadt, or old city, which contains 
about sixty thousand inhabitants, is completely 
separated from the suburbs, whose population, 
taking the whole extent within the outer bar- 
rier, numbers nearly half a million. It is sit- 
uated on a small arm of the Danube, and encom- 
passed by a series of public promenades, gar- 
dens and walks, varying from a quarter to half 
a mile in length, called the Glacis. This formerly 
belonged to the fortifications of the city, but as 
the suburbs grew up so rapidly on all sides, it 
was changed appropriately to a public walk. 
The city is still surrounded with a massive wall 
and a deep wide moat; but since it was taken 
by Napoleon in 1809, the moat has been 
changed into a garden, with a beautiful carriage 
road along the bottom, around the whole city. 
It is a beautiful sight, to stand on the summit 
of the wall and look over the broad Glacis, with 
its shady roads branching in every direction, 
and filled with inexhaustible streams of people. 
The Vorstaedte, or new cities, stretch in a circle 
around, beyond this; all the finest buildings 
front on the Glacis, among which the splendid 
Vienna Theatre and the church of San Carlo 
Borromeo are conspicuous. The mountains of 
the Vienna Forest bound the view, with here 
and there a stately castle on their woody sum- 
mits. I was reminded of London as seen from 
Begent's Park, and truly this part of Vienna can 
well compare with it. On penetrating into the 
suburbs, the resemblance is at an end. Many of 
the public thoroughfares are still unpaved, and 
in dry weather one is almost choked by the 
clouds of fine dust. A furious wind blows from 
the mountains, sweeping the streets almost con- 
stantly and filling the eyes and ears with it, 
making the city an unhealthy residence for 
strangers. 

There is no lack of places for pleasure or 
amusement. Beside the numberless walks of the 



ST. STEPHEN'S CATHEDRAL. 197 

Glacis, there are the Imperial Gardens, with 
their cool shades and flowers and fountains; 
the Augarten, laid out and opened to the public 
by Emperor Joseph : and the Prater, the largest 
and most beautiful of all. It lies on an island 
formed by the arms of the Danube, and is be- 
tween two and three miles square. From the 
circle at the end of the Praterstrasse, broad car- 
riage-ways extend through its forests of oak 
and silver ash, and over its verdant lawns to 
the principal stream, which bounds it on the 
north. These roads are lined with stately horse 
chestnuts, whose branches unite and form a 
dense canopy; completely shutting out the sun. 
Every afternoon the beauty and nobility of 
Vienna whirl through the cool groves in their 
gay equipages, while the sidewalks are thronged 
with pedestrians, and the numberless tables and 
seats with which every house of refreshment is 
surrounded, are filled with merry guests. Here, 
on Sundays and holidays, the people repair in 
thousands. The woods are full of tame deer, 
which run perfectly free over the whole Prater. 
I saw several in one of the lawns, lying down in 
the grass, with a number of children playing 
around or sitting beside them. It is delightful 
to walk there in the cool of the evening, when 
the paths are crowded, and everybody is enjoy- 
ing the release from the dusty city. It is this 
free, social life which renders Vienna so attrac- 
tive to foreigners and draws yearly thousands 
of visitors from all parts of Europe. 

St. Stephen's Cathedral, in the centre of the 
old city, is one of the finest specimens of Gothic 
architecture in Germany. Its unrivalled tower, 
which rises to the height of four hundred and 
twenty-eight feet, is visible from every part of 
Vienna. It is entirely of stone, most elaborately 
ornamented, and is supposed to be the strongest 
in Europe. If the tower was finished, it might 
rival any church in Europe in richness and brill- 



198 VIEWS A- FOOT. 

iancy of appearance. The inside is solemn and 
grand ; but the effect is injured by the number 
of small chapels and shrines. In one of these 
rests the remains of Prince Eugene of Savoy, 
"der edle Bitter," known in a ballad to every 
man, woman and child in Germany. 

The Belvidere Gallery fills thirty-five halls, 
and contains three thousand pictures ! It is ab- 
solutely bewildering to walk through such vast 
collections ; you can do no more than glance at 
each painting, and hurry by face after face, and 
figure after figure, on which you would willingly 
gaze for hours and inhale the atmosphere of 
beauty that surrounds them. Then after you 
leave, the brain is filled with their forms — ra- 
diant spirit-faces look upon you, and you see 
constantly, in fancy, the calm brow of a Ma- 
donna, the sweet young face of a child, or the 
blending of divine with mortal beauty in an 
angel's countenance. I endeavor, if possible, 
always to make several visits— to study those 
pictures which cling first to the memory, and 
pass over those which make little or no impres- 
sion. It is better to have a few images fresh 
and enduring, than a confused and indistinct 
memory of many. 

From the number of Madonnas in every 
European gallery, it would almost seem that 
the old artists painted nothing else. The subject 
is one which requires the highest genius to do 
it justice, and it is therefore unpleasant to see 
so many still, inexpressive faces of the virgin 
and child, particularly by the Dutch artists, 
who clothe their figures sometimes in the stiff 
costumes of their own time. Raphael and 
Murillo appear to me to be almost the only 
painters who have expressed .what, perhaps, was 
above the power of other masters — the com- 
bined love and reverence of the mother, and the 
divine expression in the face of the child, pro- 
phetic of his mission and godlike power. 



THE BELV1DERE GALLERr. 199 

There were many glorious old paintings in the 
second story, which is entirely taken up with 
pictures ; two or three of the halls were devoted 
to selected works from modern artists. Two of 
these I would give everything I have to possess. 
One of them is a winter scene, representing the 
portico of an old Gothic church. At the base of 
one of the pillars a woman is seated in the snow, 
half-benumbed, clasping an infant to her breast, 
while immediately in front stands a boy of per- 
haps seven or eight years, his little hands folded 
in prayer, while the chill wind tosses the long 
curls from his forehead. There is something so 
pure and holy in the expression of his childish 
countenance, so much feeling in the lip and sor- 
rowful eye, that it moves one almost to tears to 
look upon it. I turned back half a dozen times 
from the other pictures to view it again, and 
blessed the artist in my heart for the lesson he 
gave. The other is by a young Italian painter, 
whose name I have forgotten, but who, if he 
never painted anything else, is worthy a high 
place among the artists of his country. It 
represents some scene from the history of 
Venice. On an open piazza, a noble prisoner, 
wasted and pale from long confinement, has 
just had an interview with his children. He 
reaches his arm toward them as if for the last 
time, while a savage keeper drags him away. A 
lovely little girl kneels at the feet of the Doge, 
but there is no compassion in his stern features, 
and it is easy to see that her father is doomed. 

The Lower Belvidere, separated from the 
Upper by a large garden, laid out in the style of 
that at Versailles, contains the celebrated 
Ambraser Sammlung, a collection of armor. 
In the first hall I noticed the complete armor of 
the Emperor Maximilian, for man and horse — 
the armor of Charles V., and Prince Moritz of 
Saxony, while the walls were filled with figures 
of German nobles and knights, in the suits they 



200 VIEWS A- FOOT. 

wore in life. There is also the armor of the 
great "Baver of Trient," trabant of the Arch- 
duke Ferdinand. He was nearly nine feet in 
stature, and his spear, though hot equal to 
Satan's, in Paradise Lost, would still make a 
tree of tolerable dimensions. 

In the second hall we saw weapons taken from 
the Turkish army Avho besieged Vienna, with the 
horse-tail standards of the Grand Vizier, Kara 
Mustapha. The most interesting article was 
the battle-axe of the unfortunate Montezuma, 
which was probably given to the Emperor 
Charles V., by Cortez. It is a plain instrument 
of dark colored stone, about three feet long. 

We also visited the Burgerhche Zeugh&us, a 
collection of arms and weapons, belonging to 
the citizens of Vienna. It contains sixteen thou- 
sand weapons and suits of armor, including 
those plundered from the Turks, when John 
Sobieski conquered them aud relieved Vienna 
from the siege. Besides a great number of 
sabres, lances and horsetails, there is the blood- 
red banner of the Grand Vizier, as well as his 
skull and shroud, which is covered with sen- 
tences from the Koran. On his return to Beh 
grade, after the defeat at Vienna, the Sultan 
sent him a bow-string, and he was accordingly 
strangled. The Austrians having taken Bel- 
grade some time after, they opened his grave 
and carried off his skull and shroud, as well as 
the bow-string, as relics. Another large and 
richly embroidered banner, which hung in a 
broad sheet from the ceiling, was far more inter- 
esting to me. It had once waved from the 
vessels of the Knights of Malta, and had, per- 
haps, on the prow of the Grand Master's ship, 
led that romantic band to battle against the 
Infidel. 

A large number of peasants and common sol- 
diers were admitted to view the armory at the 
same time. The grave custode who showed us 



THM IROJSt STIC ft. 201 

the curiosities, explaining every thing, in phrases 
known by heart for years and making the same 
starts of admiration whenever he came to any 
thing peculiarly remarkable, singled us out as 
the two persons most worthy of attention. 
Accordingly his remarks were directed entirely to 
us, and his humble countrymen might as well 
have been invisible, for the notice he took of 
them. On passing out we gave him a coin 
worth about fifteen cents, which happened to 
be so much more than the others gave him, 
that, bowing graciously, he invited us to write 
our names in the album for strangers. While we 
were doing this, a poor hand-werker lingered 
behind, apparently for the same object, whom 
he scornfully dismissed, shaking the fifteen cent 
piece in his hand, and saying: "The album. is 
not for such as you — it is for noble gentlemen ! " 

On our way through the city, we often noticed 
a house on the southern side of St. Stephen's 
Platz, dedicated to "the Iron Stick." In a niche 
by the window, stood what appeared to be the 
limb of a tree, completely filled with nails, which 
were driven in so thick that no part of the 
original wood is visible. We learned afterward 
the legend concerning it. The Vienna forest is 
said to have extended, several hundred years 
ago, to this place. A locksmith's apprentice was 
enabled, by the devil's help, to make the iron 
bars and padlock which confine the limb in its 
place; every locksmith's apprentice who came 
to Vienna after that, drove a nail into it, till 
finally there was room for no more. It is a 
singular legend, and whoever may have placed 
the limb there originally, there it has remained 
for two or three hundred years at least. 

We spent two or three hours delightfully one 
eveningin listeningto Strauss's band. We went 
about sunset to the Odeon, a new building in the 
Leopoldstadt. It has a refreshment hall nearly 
five hundred feet long, with a handsome fresco 



303 VIEWS A- FOOT. 

ceiling and glass doors opening into a garden 
walk of the same length. Both the hall and 
garden were filled with tables, where the people 
seated themselves as they came, and conversed 
sociably over their coffee and wine. The orches- 
tra was placed in a little ornamental temple in 
the garden, in front of which I stationed myself, 
for f was anxious to see the world's waltz king, 
whose magic tones can set the heels of half 
Christendom in motion. After the band had 
finished tuning their instruments, a middle-sized, 
handsome man stepped forward with long 
strides, with a violin in one hand and bow in the 
other, and began waving the latter up and down 
like a magician summoning his spirits. As if he 
had waved the sound out of his bow, the tones 
leaped forth from the instruments, and guided 
by his eye and hand, fell into a merry measure. 
The accuracy with which every instrument per- 
formed its part was truly marvelous. He could 
not have struck the measure or the harmony 
more certainly from the keys of his own piano, 
than from that large band. The sounds strug- 
gled forth, so perfect and distinct, that one 
almost expected to see them embodied, whirling 
in wild dance around him. Sometimes the air 
was so exquisitely light and bounding, the feet 
could scarcely keep on the earth ; then it sank 
into a mournful lament, with a sobbing tremu- 
lousness, and died away in a long-breathed sigh. 
Strauss seemed to feel the music in every limb. 
He would wave his fiddle-bow awhile, then com- 
mence playing with desperate energy, moving 
his body to the measure, till the sweat rolled 
from his brow. A book was lying on the stand 
before him, but he made no use of it. He 
often glanced around with a kind of half-tri- 
umphant 'smile at the restless crowd, whose 
feet could scarcely be restrained from bound- 
ing to the magic measure. It was the horn of 
Oberon realized. The composition of the music 



THE TOMB OF BEETHOVEN. 203 

displayed great talent, but its charm consisted 
more in the exquisite combination of the differ- 
ent instruments, and the perfect, the wonderful 
exactness with which 'each performed its part — a 
piece of art of the most elaborate and refined 
character. 

The company, which consisted of several hun- 
dred, appeared to be full of enjoyment. They 
sat under the trees in the calm, cool twilight, 
with the stars twinkling above, and talked and 
laughed sociably together between the pauses of 
the music, or strolled up and down the lighted 
alleys. We walked up and down with them, and 
thought how much we should enjoy such a scene 
at home, where the faces around us would be 
those of friends, and the language our mother 
tongue! 

We went a long way through the suburbs one 
bright afternoon, to a little cemetery about a 
mile from the city, to find the grave of Bee- 
thoven. On ringing at the gate a girl admitted 
us into the grounds, in which are many monu- 
ments of noble families who have vaults there. 
I passed up the narrow walk, reading the inscrip- 
tions, till I came to the tomb of Franz Clement, 
a young composer, who died two or three years 
ago. On turning again, my eye fell instantly on 
the word "Beethoven," in golden letters, on a 
tombstone of gray marble. A simple gilded lyre 
decorated the pedestal, above which was a ser- 
pent encircling a butterfly — the emblem of resur- 
rection to eternal life. Here then, mouldered the 
remains of that restless spirit, who seemed to 
have strayed to earth from another clime, from 
such a height did he draw his glorious concep- 
tions. The perfection he sought for here in vain, 
he has now attained in a world where the soul is 
freed from the bars which bind it in this. There 
were no flowers planted around the tomb by 
those who revered his genius ; only one wreath, 
withered and dead, lay among the grass, as if 



204 VIEWS A- FOOT. 

left long ago by some solitary pilgrim, and a 
few wild buttercups bung with their bright blos- 
soms over the slab. It might have been wrong, 
but I could not resist the temptation to steal 
one or two, while the old grave-digger was busy 
preparing a new tenement. I thought that other 
buds would open in a few days, but those I took 
would be treasured many a year as sacred relics. 
A few paces off is the grave of Schubart, the com- 
poser, whose beautiful songs are heard all over 
Germany. 

It would employ one a week to visit all the 
rich collections of art in Vienna. They are all 
open to the public on certain days of the week, 
and we have been kept constantly in motion, 
running from one part of the city to another, in 
order to arrive at some gallery at the appointed 
time. Tickets, which have to be procured often 
in quite different parts of the city, are necessary 
for admittance to many; on applying after much 
trouble and search, we frequently found we came 
at the wrong hour, and must leave without 
effecting our object. We employed no guide, but 
preferred finding every thing ourselves. We 
made a list every morning, of the collections 
open during the day, and employed the rest of 
the time in visiting the churches and public gar- 
dens, or rambling through the suburbs. 

We visited the Imperial Library a day or two 
ago. The hall is 245 feet long, with a magnifi- 
cent dome in the centre, under which stands the 
statue of Charles V., of Carrara marble, sur- 
rounded by twelve other monarchs of the house 
of Hapsburg. The walls are of variegated mar- 
ble, richly ornamented with gold, and the ceiling 
and dome are covered with brilliant fresco paint- 
ings. The library numbers 300,000 volumes, 
and 16,000 manuscripts, which are kept in wal- 
nut cases, gilded and adorned with medallions. 
The rich and harmonious effect of the whole can- 
not easily be imagined. It is exceedingly appro- 



CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORT. 20§ 

priate that a hall of such splendor, should be 
used to hold a library. The pomp of a palace 
may seem hollow and vain, for it is but the 
dwelling of a man ; but no building can be too 
magnificent for the hundreds of great and 
immortal spirits to dwell in, who have visited 
earth during thirty centuries. 

Among other curiosities preserved in the col- 
lection, we were shown a brass plate, containing 
one of the records of the Roman Senate, made 
180 years before Christ, Greek manuscripts of 
the fifth and sixth centuries, and a volume of 
Psalms, printed on parchment, in the year 1457, 
by Faust and Schaeffer, the inventors of print- 
ing. There were also Mexican manuscripts, pre- 
sented by Cortez ; the prayer-book of Hildegard, 
wife of Charlemagne, in letters of gold ; the sig- 
nature of San Carlo Borromeo, and a Greek tes- 
tament of the thirteenth century, which had been 
used by Erasmus in making his translation and 
contains notes in his own hand. The most 
interesting article was the " Jerusalem Deliv- 
ered " of Tasso, in the poet's own hand, with his 
erasions and corrections. 

We also visited the Cabinet of Natural History, 
which is open twice a week "to all respectably 
dressed persons," as the notice at the door says. 
But Heaven forbid that I should attempt to 
describe what we saw there. The Mineral Cabi- 
net had a greater interest to me, inasmuch as it 
called up the recollections of many a school-boy 
ramble over the hills and into all kinds of quar- 
ries, far and near. It is said to be the most per- 
fect collection in existence. I was pleased to find 
many old acquaintances there, from the mines 
of Pennsylvania ; Massachusetts and New York 
were also very well represented. I had no idea 
before, that the mineral wealth of Austria was 
so great. Besides the iron and lead mines 
among the hills of Styria and the quicksilver of 
Idria, there is no small amount of gold and sil- 



968 VIEWS A- POOT. 

ver found, and the Carpathian mountains are 
rich in jasper, opal and lapiz lazuli. The largest 
opal ever found, was in this collection. It weighs 
thirty-four ounces and looks like a condensed 
rainbow. 

In passing the palace, we saw several persons 
entering the basement story under the Library, 
and had the curiosity to follow them. By so 
doing, we saw the splendid equipages of the 
house of Austria. There must have been near a 
hundred carriages and sleds, of every shape and 
style, from the heavy, square vehicle of the last 
century to the most light and elegant convey- 
ance of the present day. One clumsy, but mag- 
nificent machine, of crimson and gold, was 
pointed out as being a hundred and fifty years 
old. The misery we witnessed in starving Bo- 
hemia, formed a striking contrast to all this 
splendor. 

Beside the imperal Picture Gallery, there are 
several belonging to princes and noblemen in 
Vienna, which are scarcely less valuable. The 
most important of these is that of Prince Liech- 
tenstein, which we visited yesterday. We ap- 
plied to the porter's lodge for admittance to the 
gallery, but he refused to open it for two per- 
sons; as we did not wish a long walk for noth- 
ing, we concluded to wait for other visitors. 
Presently a gentleman and lady came and in- 
quired if the gallery was open. We told him 
it would probably be opened now, although the 
porter required a large number, and he went to 
ask. After a short time he returned, saying: 
'•'He will come immediately; I thought best to 
put the number a little higher, and so I told him 
there were six of us!" Having little artistic 
knowledge of paintings, I judge of them accord- 
ing to the effect they produce upon me — in pro- 
Eortion as they gratify the innate love for the 
eautiful and the true. I have been therefore 
disappointed in some painters whose names are 



PICTURES AND MUSIC. 207 

widely known, and surprised again to find works 
of great beauty by others of smaller fame. 
Judging by such a standard, I should say that 
"Cupid sleeping in the lap of Yenus," by Cor- 
reggio, is the glory of this collection. The beau- 
tiful limbs of the boy-god droop in the repose of 
slumber, as his head rests on his mother's knee, 
and there is a smile lingering around his half- 
parted lips, as if he was dreaming new triumphs. 
The face is not that of the wicked, mischief-lov- 
ing child, but rather a sweet cherub, bringing a 
blessing to all he visits. The figure of the god- 
dess is exquisite. Her countenance, unearthly 
in its loveliness, expresses the tenderness of a 
young mother, as she sits with one finger 
pressed on her rosy lip, watching his slumber. 
It is a picture which "stings the brain with 
beauty." 

The chapel of St. Augustine contains one of 
the best works of Canova— the monument of 
the Grand Duchess, Maria Christina, of Sachsen- 
Teschen. It is a pyramid of gray marble, twen- 
ty-eight feet high, with an opening in the side, 
representing the entrance to a sephulchre. A fe- 
male figure personating Virtue bears in an urn 
to the grave, the ashes of the departed, at- 
tended by two children with torches. The fig- 
ure of Compassion follows, leading an aged beg- 
gar to the tomb of his benefactor, and a little 
child with its hands folded. On the lower step 
rests a mourning Genius beside a sleeping lion, 
and a bas-relief on the pyramid above represents 
an angel carrying Christina's image, surrounded 
with the emblem of eternity, to Heaven. A 
spirit of deep sorrow, which is touchingly por- 
trayed in the countenance of the old man, per- 
vades the whole group. While we looked at it, 
the organ breathed out a slow, mournful strain, 
which harmonized so fully with the expression 
of the figures, that we seemed to be listening to 
the requiem of the one they mourned. The com- 



208 VIEWS A- FOOT. 

bined effect of music and sculpture, thus united 
in their deep pathos, was such, that I could 
have sat down and wept. It was not from sad- 
ness at the death of a benevolent though un- 
known individual, — but the feeling of grief, of 
perfect, unmingled sorrow, so powerfully repre- 
sented, came to the heart like an echo of its own 
emotion, and carried it away with irresistible in- 
fluence. Travellers have described the same 
feeling while listening to the Miserere in the Sis- 
tine Chapel, at Rome. Canova could not have 
chiseled the monument without tears. 

One of the most interesting objects in Vienna, 
is the Imperial Armory. We were admitted 
through tickets previously procured from the 
Armory Direction; as there was already one 
large company within, we were told to wait in 
the court till our turn came. Around the wall 
on the inside, is suspended the enormous chain 
which the Turks stretched across the Danube at 
Buda, in the year 1529, to obstruct the naviga- 
tion. It has eight thousand links and is nearly 
a mile in length. The court is filled with - can- 
non of all shapes and sizes, many of which were 
conquered from other nations. I saw a great 
many which were cast during the French Revo- 
lution, with the words "Liberte I Egalite ! " upon 
them, and a number of others bearing the sim- 
ple letter "N." 

Finally the first company came down and the 
forty or fifty persons who had collected during 
the interval, were admitted. The armory runs 
around a hollow square, and must be at least a 
quarter of a mile in length. We were all taken 
into a circular hall, made entirely of weapons, 
to represent the four quarters of the globe. 
Here the crusty old guide who admitted us, 
rapped with his stick on the shield of an old 
knight who stood near, to keep silence, and then 
addressed us: "When I speak every one must be 
silent. No one can write or draw anything. No 



THE IMPERIAL ARMORT. 309 

oik shall touch anything, or go to look at any- 
thing Agr, before I have done speaking. Other- 
wise, they shall Dl, taken immediately into the 
street again!" Thus in every hall he rapped 
and scolded, driving the women to one side with 
his stick and the men to the other, till we were 
nearly through, when the thought of the coming 
fee made him a little more polite. He had a reg- 
ular set uf descriptions by heart, which he went 
through with a great flourish, pointing particu- 
larly to tho common military caps of the late 
Emperors of Prussia and Austria, as "treasures 
beyond all price to the nation!" Whereupon, 
the crowd of common people gazed reverently 
on the shabby beavers, and I verily believe, 
would have devoutly kissed them, had the glass 
covering been removed. I happened to be next 
to a tall, dignified young man, who looked on 
all this with u displeasure almost amounting to 
contempt. Seeing I was a foreigner, he spoke, 
in a low tone, bitterly of the Austrian govern- 
ment. "You are not then an Austrian?" I 
asked. " No, thank God !" was the rc^ly : " but 
I have seen enough of Austrian tyranny. I am 
a Pole!" 

Thu first wing contains banners used in the 
French Kovolution, and liberty trees with the 
red cap; the armor of Kudolph of Hapsburg, 
Maximilian I., the Emperor Charles V., and the 
hat, sword and order of Marshal Schwarzenberg. 
Some of the hails represent a fortification, with 
walls, ditches and embankments, made of mus- 
kets and swords. A long room in the second 
wing contains an encampment, in which twelve 
or fifteen large tents are formed in like manner. 
Along the sides are grouped old Austrian ban- 
ners, standards taken from the French, and 
horse-tails and flags captured from the Turks. 
"They make a r- ,t boast," said the Pole, "of 
a half dozen French colors, but let them go to 
the Hospital des Invandes, in Paris, and they 



210 VIEWS A- FOOT. 

will find hundreds of the best banners of Aus- 
tria!" They also exhibit the armor of a dwarf 
king of Bohemia and Hungary, who died, a 
gray-headed old man, in his twentieth year ; the 
sword of Marlborough; the coat of Gustavus 
Adolphus, pierced in the breast and back with the 
bullet which killed him at Lutzen ; the armor of 
the old Bohemian princess Libussa, and that of 
the amazon Wlaska, with a steel visor made to 
fit the features of her face. The last wing was 
the most remarkable. Here we saw the helm 
and breastplate of Attila, king of the Huns, 
which once glanced at the heads of his myriads 
of wild hordes, before the walls of Rome; the 
armor of Count Stahremberg, who commanded 
Vienna during the Turkish siege in 1529, and 
the holy banner of Mahomet, taken at that time 
from the Grand Vizier, together with the steel 
harness of John Sobieski of Poland, who rescued 
Vienna from the Turkish troops under Kara 
Mustapha; the hat, sword and breastplate of 
Godfrey of Bouillon, the Crusader-king of Jeru- 
salem, with the banners of the cross the Crusad- 
ers had borne to Palestine, and the standard 
they captured from the Turks on the walls of 
the Holy City ! I felt all my boyish enthusiasm 
for the romantic age of the Crusaders revive, as 
I looked on the torn and mouldering banners 
which once waved on the hills of Judea, or per- 
haps followed the sword of the Lion Heart 
through the fight on the field of Ascalon ! What 
tales could they not tell, those old standards, 
cut and shivered by spear and lance! What 
brave hands have carried them through the 
storm of battle, what dying eyes have looked 
upwards to the cross on their folds, as the last 
prayer was breathed for the rescue of the Holy 
Sepulchre ! 

I must now close the catalogue. This morn- 
ing we shall look upon Vienna for the last time. 
Our knapsacks are repacked, and the passports 



SCENE AT THE PASSPORT OFFICE. 211 

(precious documents ! ) vised for Munich. The get- 
ting of this vise, however, caused a comical scene 
at the Police Office, yesterday. We entered the In- 
spector's Hall and took our stand quietly 
among the crowd of persons who were gathered 
around a railing which separated them from the 
main office. One of the clerks came up, scowling 
a,t us, and asked in a rough tone, "What do 
you want here ?" We handed him our tickets of 
sojourn (for when a traveller spends more than 
twenty-four hours in a German city, he must 
take out a permission and pay for it) with the re- 
request that he would give us our passports . He 
glanced over the tickets, came back and with 
constrained politeness asked us to step within 
the railing. Here we were introduced to the 

Chief Inspector. "Desire Herr to come 

here," said he to a servant; then turning to us, 
"I am happy to see the gentlemen in Vienna." 
An officer immediately came up, who addressed 
us in fluent English. "You may speak in your 
native tongue," said the Inspector; — "excuse 
our neglect; from the facility with which you 
speak German, we supposed you were natives of 
Austria!" Our passports were signed at once 
and given us with a gracious bow, accompanied 
by the hope that we would visit Vienna again 
before long. All this, of course, was perfectly 
unintelligible to the wondering crowd outside 
the railing. Seeing, however, the honors we were 
receiving, they crowded back and respectfully 
made room for us to pass out. I kept a grave 
face till we reached the bottom of the stairs, 
when I gave way to restrained laughter in a 
manner that shocked the dignity of the guard, 
who looked savagely at me over his forest of 
mustache. I would nevertheless have felt grate- 
ful for the attention we received as Americans, 
were it not for our uncourteous reception as sus- 
pected Austrians. 
We have just been exercising the risible mue- 



212 VIEWS A FOOT. 

cles again, though from a very different cause, 
and one which, according to common custom, 
ought to draw forth symptoms of a lachrymose 

nature. This morning B suggested an ex-. 

animation of our funds, for we had neglected 
keeping a strict account, and what with being 
cheated in Bohemia and tempted by the amuse- 
ments of Vienna, there was an apparent dwin- 
dling away. So we emptied our pockets and 
purses, counted up the contents, and found we 
had just ten florins, or four dollars apiece. The 
thought of our situation, away in the heart oi 
Austria, five hundred miles from our Frankfort 
home, seems irresistibly laughable. But allow- 
ing twenty days for the journey, we shall have 
half a florin a day to travel on. This is a homoe- 
opathic allowance, indeed, but we have con- 
cluded to try it. So now adieu, Vienna ! In two 
hours we shall be among the hills again. 



CHAPTEE XXIII. 

UP THE DANUBE. 

We passed out of Vienna in the face of one of 
the strongest winds it was ever my lot to en- 
counter. It swept across the plain with such 
force that it was almost impossible to advance 
till we got under the lee of a range of hills. 
About two miles from the barrier we passed 
Schoenbrunn, the Austrian Versailles. It was 
built by the Empress Maria Theresa, and was the 
residence of Napoleon in 1809, when Vienna was 
in the hands of the French. Later, in 1832, the 
Duke of Reichstadt died in the same room 
which his father once occupied. Behind the pal- 



THE DANUBE. 213 

ace is a magnificent garden, at the foot of a hill 
covered with rich forests and crowned with an 
open pillared hall, 300 feet long, called the 
Gloriette. The colossal eagle which surmounts 
it, can be seen a great distance. 

The lovely valley in which Schoenbrunn lies, 
follows the course of the little river Vienna into 
the heart of that mountain region lying between 
the Styrian Alps and the Danube, and called 
the Vienna Forest. Into this our road led, 
between hills covered with wood, with here and 
there a lovely green meadow, where herds of 
cattle were grazing. The third day we came to 
the Danube again at Melk, a little city built 
under the edge of a steep hill, on whose summit 
stands the palace-like abbey of the Benedictine 
Monks. The old friars must have had a merry 
life of it, for the wine-cellar of the abbey furnished 
the French army 50,000 measures for several 
days in succession. The shores of the Danube 
here are extremely beautiful. The valley where 
it spreads out, is filled with groves, but where 
the hills approach the stream, its banks are 
rocky and precipitous, like the Rhine. Although 
not so picturesque as the latter river, the scen- 
ery on the Danube is on a grander scale. On the 
south side the mountains bend down to it with 
a majestic sweep, and there must be delightful 
glances into the valleys that lie between, in pass- 
ing down the current. 

But we soon left the river, and journeyed on 
through the enchanting inland vales. To give 
an idea of the glorious enjoyment of travelling 
through such scenes, let me copy a leaf out of 
my journal, written as we rested at noon on the 
top of a lofty hill:— "Here, while the delightful 
mountain breeze that comes fresh from the Alps 
cools my forehead, and the pines around are 
sighing their eternal anthem, I seize a few mo- 
ments to tell what a paradise is around me. I 
have felt an elevation of mind and spirit, a per* 



2U VIEWS A- FOOT. 

feet rapture from morning till night, since we 
left Vienna. It is the brightest and balmiest 
June weather; an ever fresh breeze sings through 
the trees and waves the ripening grain on the 
verdant meadows and hill-slopes. The air is 
filled with bird-music. The lark sings above us 
out of sight, the bull- finch wakes his notes in the 
grove, and at eve the nightingale pours forth 
her thrilling strain. The meadows are literally 
covered with flowers — beautiful purple salvias, 
pinks such as we have at home in our gardens 
and glowing buttercups, color the banks of 
every stream. I never saw richer or more lux- 
uriant foliage. Magnificent forests clothe the 
hills, and the villages are embedded in fruit trees, 
shrubbery and flowers. Sometimes we go for 
miles through some enchanting valley, lying like 
a paradise between the mountains, while the 
distant, white Alps look on it from afar ; some- 
times over swelling ranges of hills, where we can 
see to the right the valley of the Danube, 
threaded by his silver current and dotted with 
white cottages and glittering spires, and farther 
beyond, the blue mountains of the Bohemian 
Forest. To the left, the range of the Styrian 
Alps stretches along the sky, summit above sum- 
mit, the farther ones robed in perpetual snow. 
I could never tire gazing on those glorious hills. 
They fill the soul with a conception of sublimity, 
such as one feels when listening to triumphal 
music. They seem like the marble domes of a 
mighty range of temples, where earth worships 
her Maker with an organ-anthem of storms ! 

"There is luxury in travelling here. We walk 
all day through such scenes, resting often in the 
shadeof the fruit trees which line the road, or on 
a mossy bank by the side of some cool forest. 
Sometimes for enjoyment as well as variety, we 
make our dining-place by a clear spring instead 
of Avithin a smoky tavern ; and our simple meals 
have a relish an epicure could never attain. 



BOHEMIAN GIPSIES. 215 

Away with your railroads and steamboats and 
mail-coaches, or keep them for those who have 
no eye but for the sordid interests of life ! With 
my knapsack and pilgrim-staff, I ask not their 
aid. If a mind and soul full of rapture with 
beauty, a frame in glowing and vigorous health, 
and slumbers unbroken even by dreams, are 
blessings any one would attain, let him pedes- 
trianize it through Lower Austria!" 

I have never been so strongly and constantly 
reminded of America, as during this journey. 
Perhaps the balmy season, the same in which I 
last looked upon the dear scenes at home, may 
have its effect ; but there is besides a richness in 
the forests and waving fields of grain, a wild 
luxuriance over every landscape, which I have 
seen nowhere else in Europe. The large farm- 
houses, buried in orchards, scattered over the 
valleys, add to the effect. Everything seems to 
speak of happiness and prosperity. 

We were met one morning by a band of 
wandering Bohemian gipsies — the first of the 
kind I ever saw. A young woman, with a small 
child in her arms came directly up to me, and 
looking full in my face with her wild black eyes, 
said, without any preface: "Yes, he too has 
met with sorrow and trouble already, and will 
still have more. But he is not false — he is true 
and sincere, and will also meet with good luck!" 
She said she could tell me three numbers with 
which I should buy a lottery ticket and win a 
great prize. I told her I would have nothing to 
do with the lottery, and would buy no ticket, 
but she persisted, saying: "Has he a twenty 
kreutzer piece? — will he give it? Lay it in his 
hand and make a cross over it, and I will reveal 
the numbers!" On my refusal, she became 
angry, and left me, saying: " Let him take care 
—the third day something will happen to him!" 
An old, wrinkled hag made the same proposi- 
tion to my companion with no better success. 



216 VIEWS A -Poof: 

They reminded me strikingly of our Indians; 
their complexion is a dark brown, and their 
eyes and hair are black as night. These 
belonged to a small tribe who wander through 
the forests of Bohemia, and support themselves 
by cheating and stealing. 

We stopped the fourth night at Enns, a small 
city on the river of the same name, which 
divides Upper from Lower Austria. After leaving 
the beautiful little village where we passed the 
night before, the road ascended one of those 
long ranges of hills, which stretch off from the 
Danube towards the Alps. We walked for miles 
over the broad and uneven summit, enjoying 
the enchanting view which opened on both sides. 
If we looked to the right we could trace the 
windings of the Danube for twenty miles, his 
current filled with green, wooded islands; white 
cities lie at the foot of the hills, which, covered 
to the summit with grain-fields and vine-yards, 
extended back one behind another, till the 
farthest were lost in the distance. I was glad 
we had taken the way from Vienna to Linz by 
land, for from the heights we had a view of the 
whole course of the Danube, enjoying besides, 
the beauty of the inland vales and the far-off 
Styrian Alps. From the hills we passed over we 
could see the snowy range as far as the Alps 
of Salsburg — some of them seemed robed to 
the very base in their white mantles. In the 
morning the glaciers on their summit glittered 
like stars ; it was the first time I saw the sun re- 
flected at a hundred miles' distance ! 

On descending we came into a garden-like 
plain, over which rose the towers of Enns, built 
by the ransom money paid to Austria for the 
deliverance of the Lion-hearted Kiehard. The 
country legends say that St. Florian was 
thrown into the river by the Romans in the 
third century, with a millstone around his neck, 
which, however, held him above the water like 



LINZ. 217 

a cork, until he had finished preaching them a 
sermon. In the villages we often saw his image 
painted on the houses, in the act of pouring a 
pail of water on a burning building, with the in- 
scription beneath — "Oh, holy Florian, pray for 
us !" This was supposed to be a charm against 
fire. In Upper Austria, it is customary to erect 
a shrine on the road, wherever an accident has 
happened, with a painting and description of it, 
and an admonition to all passers-by to pray for 
the soul of the unfortunate person. On one of 
them, for instance, was a cart with a wild ox, 
which a man was holding by the horns; a 
woman kneeling by the wheels appeared to be 
drawing a little girl by the feet from under it, 
and the inscription stated: "By calling on 
Jesus, Mary and Joseph, the girl was happily 
rescued." Many of the shrines had images 
which the people no doubt, in their ignorance 
and simplicity, considered holy, but they were 
to us impious and almost blasphemous. 

From Enns a morning's walk brought us to 
Linz. The peasant girls in their broad straw 
hats were weeding the young wheat, looking as 
cheerful and contented as the larks that sung 
above them. A mile or two from Linz we passed 
one or two of the round towers belonging to the 
new fortifications of the city. As walls have 
grown out of fashion, Duke Maximilian substi- 
tuted an invention of his own. The city is sur- 
rounded by thirty-two towers, one to three 
miles distant from it, and so placed that they 
form a complete line of communication and 
defence. They are sunk in the earth, surrounded 
with a ditch and embankments, and each is cap- 
able of containing ten cannon and three hundred 
men. The pointed roofs of these towers are seen 
on all the hills around. We were obliged to give 
up our passports at the barrier, the officer tell- 
ing us to call for them in three hours at the City 
Police Office; we spent the intervening time very 



218 VIEWS A-FOOT. 

agreeably in rambling through this gay, cheer- 
ful-looking town. With its gilded spires and 
ornamented houses, with their green lattice- 
blinds, it reminds one strongly of Italy, or at 
least of what Italy is said to be. It has now 
quite an active and business-like aspect, occa- 
sioned by the steamboat and railroad lines which 
connect it with Vienna, Prague, Ratisbon and 
Salzburg. Although we had not exceeded our 
daily allowance by more than a few kreutzers, 
we found that twenty days would be hardly suf- 
ficient to accomplish the journey, and our funds 
must therefore be replenished. Accordingly I 
wrote from Linz to Frankfort, directing a small 
sum to be forwarded to Munich, which city we 
hoped to reach in eight days. 

We took the horse cars at Linz for Lambach, 
seventeen miles on the way towards Gmunden. 
The mountains were covered with clouds as we 
approached them, and the storms they had been 
brewing for two or three days began to march 
down on the plain. They had nearly reached us, 
when we crossed the Traun and arrived at Lam- 
bach, a small city built upon a hill. We left the 
next day at noon, and on ascending the hill 
after crossing the Traun, had an opportunity 
of seeing the portrait on the Traunstein, of 
which the old landlord told us. I saw it at the 
first glance— certainly it is a most remarkable 
freak of nature. The rough back of the mount- 
ain forms the exact profile of the human coun- 
tenance, as if regularly hewn out of the rock. 
What is still more singular, it is said to be a cor- 
rect portrait of the unfortunate Louis XVI. 
The landlord said it was immediately recognized 
by all Frenchmen. The road followed the course 
of the Traun, whose green waters roared at the 
bottom of the glen below us ; we walked for sev- 
eral miles through a fine forest, through whose 
openings we caught glimpses of the mountains 
we longed to reach. 



THE UNKNOWN STUDENT. 'M 

The river roared at last somewhat louder, and 
on looking down the bank, I saw rocks and 
rapids, and a few houses built on the edge of the 
stream. Thinking it must be near the fall, we 
went down the path, and lo ! on crossing a little 
wooden bridge, the whole affair burst in sight ! 
Judge of our surprise at finding a fall of fifteen 
feet, after we had been led to expect a tremen- 
dous leap of forty or fifty, with all the accompa- 
niment of rocks and precipices. Of course the 
whole descent of the river at the place was much 
greater, and there were some romantic cascades 
over the rocks which blocked its course. Its 
greatest beauty consisted in the color of the 
water — the brilliant green of the waves being 
broken into foam of the most dazzling white — 
and the great force with which it is thrown be- 
low. 

The Traunstein grew higher as we approached, 
presenting the same profile till we had nearly 
reached Gmunden. From the green upland 
meadows above the town, the view of the mount- 
ain range was glorious, and I could easily con- 
ceive the effect of the Unknown Student's appeal 
to the people to fight for those free hills. I think 
it is Howitt who relates the incident — one of the 
most romantic in German history. Count Pap- 
penheim led his forces here in the year 1626, to 
suppress a revolution of the people of the whole 
Salzburg region, who had risen against an in- 
vasion of their rights by the Austrian govern- 
ment. The battle which took place on these 
meadows was about being decided in favor of 
the oppressors, when a young man, clad as a 
student, suddenly appeared and addressed the 
people, pointing to the Alps above them and the 
sweet lake below, and asking if that land should 
not be free. The effect was electrical; they re- 
turned to the charge and drove back the troops 
of Pappenheim, who were about taking to flight, 
when the unknown leader fell, mortally wounded. 



220 VIEWS A- FOOT. 

This struck a sudden panic through his fol- 
lowers, and the Austrians turning again, gained 
a complete victory. But the name of the brave 
student is unknown, his deed unsung by his 
country's bards, and almost forgotten. 



CHAPTER XXIV. 



THE UNKNOWN STUDENT. 

Ha! spears on Gmunden's meadows green, 

And banners on the wood-crowned height! 
Rank after rank, their helmets' sheen 

Sends back the morning light! 
Where late the mountain maiden sang, 
The battle-trumpet's brazen clang 

Vibrates along the air; 
And wild dragoons wheel o'er the plain, 
Trampling to earth the yellow grain, 
From which no more the merry swain 

His harvest sheaves shall bear. 

The eagle, in his sweep at morn, 

To meet the monarch -sun on high, 
Heard the unwonted warrior's horn 

Peal faintly up the sky ! 
He saw the foemen, moving slow 
In serried legions, far below, 

Against that peasant-band, 
Who dared to break the tyrant's thrall 
And by the sword of Austria fall, 
Or keep the ancient Right of all, 

Held by their mountain-land! 

They came to meet that mail-clad host 

From glen and wood and ripening field; 
A brave, stout arm, each man could boast— 

A soul, unused to yield! 
They met: a shout, prolonged and loud, 
Went hovering upward with the cloud 

That closed around them dun; 
Blade upon blade unceasing clashed, 
Spears in the onset shivering crashed, 
And the red glare of cannon flashed 

Athwart the smoky sun! 



THR UNKNOWN STUDENT. 221 

The mountain warriors wavered back, 

Borne down by myriads of the foe, 
Like pines before the torrent's track 

When spring has warmed the snow. 
Shall Faith and Freedom vainly call, 
And Gmunden's warrior-herdsmen fall 

On the red field in vain? 
No! from the throng that back retired, 
A student boy sprang forth inspired, 
And while his words their bosoms fired, 

Led on the charge again: 

"And thus your free arms would ye give, 

So tamely to a tyrant's band, 
And with the hearts of vassals live 

In this, your chainless land? 
The emerald lake is spread below, 
And tower above the hills of snow, 

Here, field and forest lie; 
This land, so glorious and so free — 
Say, shall it crushed and trodden be? 
Say, would ye rather bend the knee 

Than for its freedom die? 

"Look! yonder stand in mid-day's glare 

The everlasting Alps of snow, 
And from their peaks a purer air 

Breathes o'er the vales below! 
The Traunstein's brow is bent in pride — 
He brooks no craven on his side — 

Would ye be fettered then? 
There lifts the Sonnenstein his head, 
There chafes the Traun his rocky bed 
And Aurach's lovely vale is spread — 

Look on them and be men ! 

" Let, like a trumpet's sound of fire, 

These stir your souls to manhood's part — 
The glory of the Alps inspire 

Each yet unconquered heart! 
For, through their unpolluted air 
Soars fresher up the grateful prayer 

From freemen, unto God; — 
A blessing on those mountains old! 
On to the combat, brethren bold ! 
Strike, that ye free the valleys hold, 

Where free your fathers trod ! " 

And like a mighty storm that tears 

The icy avalanche from its bed, 
They rushed against th' opposing spears — 

The student at their head ! 



322 VIEWS A- FOOT. 

The bands of Austria fought in vain; 
A bloodier harvest heaped the plain 

At every charge they made; 
Each herdsman was a hero then — 
The mountain hunters stood like men, 
And echoed from the farthest glen 

The clash of blade on blade! 

The banner in the student's hand 

Waved triumph from the fight before ; 
What terror seized the conq'ring band? — 

It fell, to rise no more! 
And with it died the lofty flame, 
That from his lips in lightning came 

And burned upon their own; 
Dread Pappenheim led back the foe, 
The mountain peasants yielded slow, 
And plain above and lake below 

Were red when evening shone. 

Now many a year has passed away 

Since battle's blast rolled o'er the plain, 
The Alps are bright in morning's ray — 

The Traunstein smiles again. 
But underneath the flowery sod, 
By happy peasant children trod, 

A heroe's ashes lay. 
O'er him no grateful nation wept, 
Fame, of his deed no record kept, 
And dull Forgetfulness hath swept 

His very name away. 

In many a grave, by poet sung, 
There falls to dust a lofty brow, 

But he alone, the brave and young, 
Sleeps there forgotten now. 

The Alps upon that field look down, 
Which won his bright and brief renown, 

Beside the lake's green shore; 
Still wears the .and a tyrant's chain — 
Still bondmen tread the battle-plain, 
Called by his glorious soul in vain 

To win their rights of yore. 



GMUNDEN. 223 



CHAPTEE XXV. 

THE AUSTRIAN ALPS. 

It was nearly dark when we came to the end 
of the plain and looked on the city at our feet 
and the lovely lake that lost itself in the mount- 
ains before us. We were early on board the 
steamboat next morning, with a cloudless sky 
above us and a snow-crested Alp beckoning on 
from the end of the lake. The water was of the 
most beautiful green hue, the morning light col- 
ored the peaks around with purple, and a misty 
veil rolled up the rocks of the Traunstein. We 
stood on the prow and enjoyed to the fullest ex- 
tent the enchanting scenery. The white houses 
of Gmunden sank down to the water's edge like 
a flock of ducks ; half-way we passed castle Ort, 
on a rock in the lake, whose summit is covered 
with trees. 

As we neared the other extremity, the mounts 
ains became steeper and loftier; there was no 
path along their wild sides, nor even a fisher's 
nut nestled at their feet, and the snow filled the 
ravines more than half-way from the summit. 
An hour and a quarter brought us to Ebensee, 
at the head of the lake, where we landed and 
plodded on towards Ischl, following the Traun 
up a narrow valley, whose mountain-walls shut 
out more than half the sky. They are covered 
with forests, and the country is inhabited en- 
tirely by the woodmen who fell the mountain 
pines and float the timber rafts down to the 
Danube. The steeps are marked with white 
lines, where the trees have been rolled, or rather 
thrown from the summit. Often they descent} 



224 VIEWS A- FOOT. 

several miles over rocks and precipices, where 
the least deviation from the track would dash 
them in a thousand pieces. This generally 
takes place in the winter when the sides are cov- 
ered with snow and ice. It must be a dangerous 
business, for there are many crosses by the way- 
side where the pictures represent persons acci- 
dentally killed by the trees ; an additional paint- 
ing represents them as burning in the flames of 
purgatory, and the pious traveller is requested 
to pray an Ave or a Paternoster for the repose 
of their souls. 

On we went, up the valley of the Traun, be- 
tween mountains five and six thousand feet 
high, through scenes constantly changing and 
constantly grand, for three or four hours. Fi- 
nally the hills opened, disclosing a little trian- 
gular valley, whose base was formed by a mighty 
mountain covered with clouds. Through the 
two side-angles came the Traun and his tribu- 
tary the Ischl, while the little town of Ischl lay 
in the centre. Within a few years this has be- 
come a very fashionable bathing-place, and the 
influx of rich visitors, which in the summer 
sometimes amounts to two thousand, has en- 
tirely destroyed the primitive simplicity the in- 
habitants originally possessed. From Ischl we 
took a road through the forests to St. Wolf- 
gang, on the lake of the same name. The last 
part of the way led along the banks of the lake, 
disclosing some delicious views. These Alpine 
lakes surpass any scenery I have yet seen. The 
water is of the most beautiful green, like a sheet 
of molten beryl, and the cloud-piercing mount- 
ains that encompass them shut out the sun for 
nearly half the day. St. Wolfgang is a lovely 
village in a cool and quiet nook at the foot of 
Schaf berg. The houses are built in the pictur- 
esque Swiss style, with flat, projecting roofs and 
ornamented balconies, and the people are the 
very picture of neatness and cheerfulness, 



ASCENT OF SCHAEBERG. 225 

We started next morning to ascend the Schaf- 
berg, which is called the Righi of the Austrian 
Switzerland. It is somewhat higher than its 
Swiss namesake, and commands a prospect 
scarcely less extensive or grand. We followed 
a foot-path through the thick forest by the side 
of a roaring torrent. The morning mist still 
covered the lake, but the white summits of the 
Salzburg and Noric Alps opposite us, rose above 
it and stood pure and bright in the upper air. 
We passed a little mill and one or two cottages, 
and then wound round one of the lesser heights 
into a deep ravine, down in whose dark shadow 
we sometimes heard the axe and saw of the 
mountain woodmen. Finally the path disap- 
peared altogether under a mass of logs and 
rocks, which appeared to have been whirled to- 
gether by a sudden flood. We deliberated what 
to do; the summit rose several thousand feet 
above us, almost precipitously steep, but we did 
not like to turn back, and there was still a hope 
of meeting with the path again. Clambering 
over the ruins and rubbish we pulled ourselves 
by the limbs of trees up a steep ascent and de- 
scended again to the stream. We here saw the 
ravine was closed by a wall of rock and our 
only chance was to cross to the west side of the 
mountain, where the ascent seemed somewhat 
easier. A couple of mountain maidens whom 
we fortunately met, carrying home grass for 
their goats, told us the mountain could be as- 
cended on that side, by one who could climb well 
—laying a strong emphasis on the word. The 
very doubt implied in this expression was 
enough to decide us; so we began the work. 
And work it was, too ! The side was very steep, 
the trees all leaned downwards, and we slipped 
at every step on the dry leaves and grass. After 
making a short distance this way with the great- 
est labor, we came to the track of an avalanche, 
which had swept away the trees and earth. 



226 VIEWS A- FOOT. 

Here the rock had been worn rough by torrents, 
but by using both hands and feet, we clomb di- 
rectly up the side of the mountain, sometimes 
dragging ourselves up by the branches of trees 
where the rocks were smooth. After half an 
hour of such work we came above the forests, 
on the bare side of the mountain. The summit 
was far above us and so steep that our limbs 
involuntarily shrunk from the task of climbing. 
The side ran up at an angle of nearly sixty de- 
grees, and the least slip threw us flat on our 
faces. We had to use both hand and foot, and 
were obliged to rest every few minutes to re- 
cover breath. Crimson-flowered moss and bright 
blue gentians covered the rock, and I filled my 
books with blossoms for friends at home. 

Up and up, for what seemed an age, we clamb- 
ered. So steep was it, that the least rocky pro- 
jection hid my friend from sight, as he was com- 
ing up below me. I let stones roll sometimes, 
which went down, down, almost like a cannon- 
ball, till I could see them no more. At length 
we reached the region of dwarf pines, which was 
even more difficult to pass through. Although 
the mountain was not so steep, this forest, cen- 
turies old, reached no higher than our breasts, 
and the trees leaned downwards, so that we 
were obliged to take hold of the tops of those 
above us, and drag ourselves up through the 
others. Here and there lay large patches of 
snow; we sat down in the glowing June sun, 
and bathed our hands and faces in it. Finally 
the sky became bluer and broader, the clouds 
seemed nearer, and a few more steps through 
the bushes brought us to the summit of the 
mountain, on the edge of a precipice a thousand 
feet deep, whose bottom stood in a vast field of 
snow! 

We lay down on the heather exhausted by five 
hours' incessant toil, and drank in like a refresh- 
ing draught, the sublimity of the scene. The 



THE V ALLEY OF ST. GILGEN. 227 

green lakes of the Salzburg Alps lay far below us, 
and the whole southern horizon was filled with 
the mighty range of the Styrian and Noric Alps, 
their summits of never-melted snow mingling 
and blending with the clouds. On the other side 
the mountains of Salzburg lifted their ridgy backs 
from the plains of Bavaria and the Chiem lake 
lay spread out in the blue distance. A line of 
mist far to the north betrayed the path of the 
Danube, and beyond it we could barely trace the 
outline of the Bohemian mountains. With a 
glass the spires of Munich, one hundred and 
twenty miles distant, can be seen. It was a view 
whose grandeur I can never forget. In that 
dome of the cloud we seemed to breathe a purer 
air than that of earth. 

After an hour or two we began to think of 
descending, as the path was yet to be found. 
The summit, which was a mile or more in length, 
extended farther westward, and by climbing 
over the dwarf pines for some time, we saw a 
little wooden house above us. It stood near the 
highest part of the peak, and two or three men 
were engaged in repairing it, as a shelter for 
travellers. They pointed out the path which 
went down on the side toward St. Gilgen, and 
we began descending. The mountain on this 
side is much less steep, but the descent is 
fatiguing enough. The path led along the side 
of a glen where mountain goats were grazing, 
and further down we saw cattle feeding on the 
little spots of verdure which lay in the forest. 
My knees became so weak from this continued 
descent, that they would scarcely support me; 
but we were three hours, partly walking and 
,partly running down, before we reached the 
bottom. Half an hour's walk around the head 
of the St. Wolfgang See, brought us to the little 
village of St. Gilgen. 

The valley of St. Gilgen lies like a little para- 
dise between the mountains. Lovely green 



228 VIEWS A- FOOT. 

fields and woods slope gradually from the mount- 
ain behind, to the still greener lake spread out 
before it, in whose bosom the white Alps are 
mirrored. Its picturesque cottages cluster 
around the neat church with its lofty spire, and 
the simple inhabitants have countenances as 
bright and cheerful as the blue sky above them. 
We breathed an air of poetry. The Arcadian 
simplicity of the people, the pastoral beauty of 
the fields around, and the grandeur of the mount- 
ains which shut it out from the world, realized 
my ideas of a dwelling-place, where, with a few 
kindred spirits, the bliss of Eden might almost 
be restored. 

We stopped there two or three hours to relieve 
our hunger and fatigue. My boots had suffered 
severely in our mountain adventure, and I called 
at a shoemaker's cottage to get them repaired. 
I sat down and talked for half an hour with the 
family. The man and his wife spoke of the de- 
lightful scenery around them, and expressed 
themselves with correctness and even elegance. 
They were much pleased that I admired their 
village so greatly, and related everything which 
they supposed could interest me. As I rose to 
go my head nearly touched the ceiling, which 
was very low. The man exclaimed : "Ach Gott ! 
how tall ! " I told him the people were all tall in 
our country; he then asked where I came from, 
and I had no sooner said America, than he threw 
up his hands and uttered an ejaculation of the 
greatest surprise. His wife observed that "it 
was wonderful how far man was permitted to 
travel." They wished me a prosperous journey 
and a safe return home. 

St. Gilgen was also interesting to me from that 
beautiful chapter in " Hyperion "— -" Footsteps 
of Angels" — and on passing the church on my 
way back to the inn, I entered the grave-yard 
mentioned in it. The green turf grows thickly 
over the rows of mounds, with here and there a 



THE VALLET OF SALZBURG. 229 

rose planted by the hand of affection, and the 
white crosses were hung with wreaths, some 
of which had been freshly laid on. Behind 
the church under the shade of a tree, stood a 
small chapel. — I opened the unfastened door, and 
entered. The afternoon sun shone through the 
side window, and all was still around. A little 
shrine, adorned with flowers, stood at the other 
end, and there were two tablets on the wall, to 
persons who slumbered beneath. I approached 
these and read on one of them with feelings 
not easily described: "Look not mournfully 
into the past — it comes not again; wisely im- 
prove the present — it is time; and go forward 
to meet the shadowy future, without fear, and 
with a manly heart! " This then was the spot 
where Paul Flemming came in loneliness and 
sorrow to muse over what he had lost, and these 
were the w T ords whose truth and eloquence 
strengthened and consoled him, "as if the un- 
known tenant of the grave had opened his 
lips of dust and spoken those words of con- 
solation his soul needed." I sat down and 
mused a long time, for there was something in 
the silent holiness of the spot, that impressed 
me more than I could well describe. 

"We reached a little village on the Fuschel See, 
the same evening, and set off the next morning 
for Salzburg. The day was hot and we walked 
slowly, so that it was not till two o'clock that 
we saw the castellated rocks on the side of the 
Gaissberg, guarding the entrance to the valley 
of Salzburg. A short distance further, the 
whole glorious panorama w x as spread out below 
us. From the height on which we stood, w r e 
looked directly on the summit of the Capuchin 
Mountain, which hid part of the city from sight ; 
the double peak of the Staufen rose opposite, 
and a heavy storm was raging along the Alpine 
heights around it, while the lovelv valley lay in 
-sunshine below, threaded by the bright current 



230 VIEWS A- FOOT. 

of the Salza. As we descended and passed 
around the foot of the hill, the Untersberg came 
in sight, whose broad summits lift themselves 
seven thousand feet above the plain. The le- 
gend says that Charlemagne and his warriors 
sit in its subterraneous caverns in complete 
armor, and that they will arise and come forth 
again, when Germany recovers her former power 
and glory. 

I wish I could convey in words some idea of 
the elevation of spirit experienced while looking 
on these eternal mountains. They fill the soul 
with a sensation of power and grandeur which 
frees it awhile from the cramps and fetters of 
common life. It rises and expands to the level 
of their sublimity, till its thoughts stand sol- 
emnly aloft, like their summits, piercing the free 
heaven. Their dazzling and imperishable beauty 
is to the mind an image of its own enduring ex- 
istence. When I stand upon some snowy sum- 
mit — the invisible apex of that mighty pyramid 
— there seems a majesty in my weak will which 
might defy the elements. This sense of power, 
inspired by a silent sympathy with the forms of 
nature, is beautifully described — as shown in the 
free unconscious instincts of childhood — by the 
poet Uhland, in his ballad of the "Mountain 
Boy." I have attempted a translation: 

THE MOUNTAIN BOY. 



A herd-boy on the mountain's brow, 
I see the castles all below, 
The sunbeam here is earliest cast 
And by my side it lingers last — 
I am the boy of the mountain! 

The mother-house of streams is here- 
I drink them in their cradles clear; 
From out the rock they foam below, 
I spring to catch them as they go! 
I am the boy o£ the mountain! 



BIR THPL A CE OF MOZA R T. 231 

To me belongs the mountain's bound, 
Where gathering tempests march around; 
But though from north and south they shout, 
Above them still my song rings out — 
" I am the boy of the mountain!" 

Below me clouds and thunders move; 
I stand amid the blue above. 
I shout to them with fearless breast: 
"Go, leave my father's house in rest! " 
I am the boy of the mountain ! 

And when the loud bell shakes the spires 
And flame aloft the signal-fires, 
I go below and join the throng 
And swing my sword and sing my song: 
" I am the boy of the mountain! " 

Salzburg lies on both sides of the Salza, hem- 
med in on either hand by precipitous mount- 
ains. A large fortress overlooks it on the 
south, from the summit of a perpendicular rock, 
against which the houses in that part of the city 
are built. The streets are narrow and crooked, 
but the newer part contains many open squares, 
adorned with handsome fountains. The variety 
of costume among the people, is very interest- 
ing. The inhabitants of the salt district have a 
peculiar dress ; the women wear round fur caps, 
with little wings of gauze at the side. I saw 
other women with head-dresses of gold or silver 
filagree, something in shape like a Roman hel- 
met, with a projection at the back of the head, 
a foot long. The most interesting objects in 
Salzburg to us, were the house of Mozart, in 
which the composer was born, and the monu- 
ment lately erected to him. The St. Peter's 
Church, near by, contains the tomb of Haydn, 
the great composer, and the Church of St. Se- 
bastian, that of the renowned Paracelsus, who 
was also a native of Salzburg. 

Two or three hours sufficed to see every thing 
of interest in the city. We had intended to go 
further through the Alps, to the beautiful vales 



232 VIEWS A- FOOT. 

of the Tyrol, but our time was getting short, 
our boots, which are the pedestrian's sole 
dependence, began to show symptoms of wear- 
ing out, and our expenses among the lakes and 
mountains of Upper Austria, left us but two 
florins apiece, so we reluctantly turned our 
backs upon the snowy hills and set out for 
Munich, ninety miles distant. After passing the 
night at Saalbruck, on the banks of the stream 
which separates the two kingdoms, we entered 
Bavaria next morning. I could not help feeling 
glad to leave Austria, although within her 
bounds I had passed scenes whose beauty will 
long haunt me, and met with many honest 
friendly hearts among her people. We noticed 
a change as soon as we had crossed the border. 
The roads were neater and handsomer, and the 
country people greeted us in going by, with a 
friendly cheerfulness that made us feel hall at 
home. The houses are built in the picturesque 
Swiss fashion, their balconies often ornamented 
with curious figures, carved in wood. Many of 
them, where they are situated remote from a 
church, have a little bell on the roof which they 
ring for morning and evening prayers ; we often 
heard these simple monitors sounding from the 
cottages as we passed by. 

The next night we stopped at the little village 
of Stein, famous in former times for its robber- 
knight, Hans von Stein. The ruins of his castle 
stand on the rock above, and the caverns hewn 
in the sides of the precipice, where he used to 
confine his prisoners, are still visible. Walking 
on through a pleasant, well cultivated country, 
we came to Wasserburg, on the Inn. The situa- 
tion of the city is peculiar. The Inn has grad- 
ually worn his channel deeper in the sandy soil, 
so that he now flows at the bottom of a glen, 
a hundred feet below the plains around. Was- 
serburg lies in a basin, formed by the change of 
the current, which flows around it like a horse- 



Arrival at Munich. 233 

shoe, leaving only a narrow neck of land which 
connects it with the country above. 

We left the little village where we were quar- 
tered for the night and took a foot path which 
led across the country to the field of Hohenlin- 
den, about six miles distant. The name had 
been familiar to me from childhood, and my 
love for Campbell, with the recollection of the 
school-exhibitions where "On Linden when the 
sun was low" had been so often declaimed, in- 
duced me to make the excursion to it. We 
traversed a large forest, belonging to the King 
of Bavaria, and came out on a plain covered 
with grain-fields and bounded on the right by a 
semi-circle of low hills. Over the fields, about 
two miles distant, a tall, minaret-like spire rose 
from a small cluster of houses, and this was 
Hohenlinden? To tell the truth I had been ex- 
pecting something more. The "hills of blood- 
stained snow" are very small hills indeed, and 
the "Isar, rolling rapidly," is several miles off; 
it was the spot, however, and we recited Camp- 
bell's poem, of course, and brought away a few 
wild flowers as memorials. There is no monu- 
ment or any other token of the battle, and the 
people seem to endeavor to forget the scene of 
Moreau's victory and their defeat. 

From a hill twelve miles off we had our first 
view of the spires of Munich, looking like distant 
ships over the sea-like plain. They kept in sight 
till we arrived at eight o'clock in the evening, 
after a walk of more than thirty miles. We 
crossed the rapid Isar on three bridges, entered 
the ^magnificent Isar Gate, and were soon com- 
fortably quartered in the heart of Munich. 

Entering the city without knowing a single 
soul within it, we made within a few minutes an 
agreeable aquaintance. After we had passed 
the Isar Gate, we began looking for a decent 
inn, for the day's walk was very fatiguing. 
Presently a young man, who had been watching 



234 VIE WS A-FO O T. 

us for some time, came up and said, if we would 
allow him, he would conduct us to a good lodg- 
ing place. Finding we were strangers, he ex- 
pressed the greatest regret that he had not time 
to go with us every day around the city. Our 
surprise and delight at the splendor of Munich, 
he said, would more than repay him for the 
trouble. In his anxiety to show us something 
he took us some distance out of the way, 
(although it was growing dark and we were 
very tired,) to see the Palace and the Theatre, 
with its front of rich frescoes. 



CHAPTEK XXVI. 

MUNICH. 

June 14. — I thought I had seen every thing in 
Vienna that could excite admiration or gratify 
fancy ; here I have my former sensations to live 
over again, in an augmented degree. It is well 
I was at first somewhat prepared by our pre- 
vious travel, otherwise the glare and splendor 
of wealth and art in this German Athens might 
blind me to the beauties of the cities we shall 
yet visit. I have been walking in a dream where 
the fairy tales of boyhood were realized, and the 
golden and jeweled halls of the Eastern genii 
rose glittering around me — "a vision of the 
brain no more." All I had conceived of oriental 
magnificence, all descriptions of the splendor of 
kingly halls and palaces, fall far short of what 
I here see. Where shall I begin to describe the 
crowd of splendid edifices that line its streets, 
or how give an idea of the profusion of paint- 
ings and statues — of marble, jasper and gold? 

Art has done everything for Munich. It lies 



MUNICH. 235 

on a large, flat plain, sixteen hundred feet above 
the sea, and continually exposed to the cold 
winds from the Alps. At the beginning of the 
present century it was but a third-rate city, 
and was rarely visited by foreigners. Since that 
time its population and limits have been doubled, 
and magnificent edifices in every style of archi- 
tecture erected, rendering it scarcely secondary 
in this respect to any capital in Europe. Every 
art that wealth or taste could devise, seems to 
have been spent in its decoration. Broad, spac- 
ious streets and squares have been laid out, 
churches, halls and colleges erected, and schools 
of painting and sculpture established, which 
draw artists from all parts of the world. All 
this was principally brought about by the taste 
of the present king, Ludwig I., who began twenty 
or thirty years ago, when he was Crown Prince, 
to collect the best German artists around him 
and form plans for the execution of his grand 
design. He can boast of having done more for 
the arts than any other living monarch, and if 
he had accomplished it all without oppressing 
his people, he would deserve an immortality of 
fame. 

Now, if you have nothing else to do, let us 
take a stroll down the Ludwigstrasse. As we 
pass the Theatiner Church, with its dome and 
tqwers, the broad street opens before us, stretch- 
ing away to the north, between rows of magnifi- 
cent buildings. Just at this southern end, is the 
Schliisshalle, an open temple of white marble 
terminating the avenue. To the right of us ex- 
tend the arcades, with the trees of the Eoyal 
Garden peeping above them; on the left is the 
spacious concert building of the Odeon, and the 
palace of the Duke of Leuchtenberg, son of Eu- 
gene Beauharnois. Passing through a row of 
palace-like private buildings, we come to the 
Army Department, on the right — a neat and 
tasteful building of white sandstone. Beside it 



236 VIEWS A- FOOT. 

stands the Library, which possesses the first 
special claim on our adniiration. With its splen- 
did front of five hundred and eighteen feet, the 
yellowish brown cement with which the body is 
covered, making an agreeable contrast with the 
dark red window-arches and cornices, and the 
statues of Homer, Hippocrates, Thucydides 
and Aristotle guarding the portal, is it not 
a worthy receptacle for the treasures of ancient 
and modern lore which its halls contain? 

Nearly opposite stands the Institute for the 
Blind, a plain but large building of dark red 
brick, covered with cement, and further, the 
Ludwig's Kirche, or Church of St. Louis. How 
lightly the two square towers of gray marble 
lift their network of sculpture! And what a 
novel and beautiful effect is produced by 
uniting the Byzantine style of architecture to 
the form of the Latin cross \ Over the arched 
portal stand marble statues by Schwanthaler, 
and the roof of brilliant tiles worked into mo- 
saic, looks like a rich Turkey carpet covering 
the whole. We must enter to. get an idea of the 
splendor of this church. Instead of the pointed 
arch which one would expect to see meeting 
above his head, the lofty pillars on each side 
bear an unbroken semicircular vault, which is 
painted a brilliant blue, and spangled with silver 
stars. These pillars, and the little arches above, 
which spring from them, are painted in an ara- 
besque style with gold and brilliant colors, and 
each side-chapel is a perfect casket of richness 
and elegance. The windows are of silvered glass, 
through which the light glimmers softly on the 
splendor within. The whole end of the church 
behind the high altar, is taken up with Corne- 
lius' celebrated fresco painting of the "Last 
Judgment," — the largest painting in the world — 
and the circular dome in the centre of the cross 
contains groups of martyrs, prophets, saints 
and kings, painted in fresco on a ground of gold. 



THB SPLENDOR OF MUNICH. 28? 

The work of Cornelius has been greatly praised 
for sublimity of design and beauty of execution, 
by many acknowledged judges; I was disap- 
pointed in it, but the fault lay most probably in 
me and not in the painting. The richness and 
elegance of the church took me all "aback;" it 
was so entirely different from anything I had 
seen, that it was difficult to decide whether I was 
most charmed by its novelty or its beauty. Still, 
as a, building designed to excite feelings of wor- 
ship, it seems to me inappropriate. A vast, dim 
Cathedral would be far preferable; the devout, 
humble heart cannot feel at home amid such 
glare and brightness. 

As we leave the church and walk further on, 
the street expands suddenly into a broad square. 
One side is formed by the new University build- 
ing and the other by the Koyal Seminary, both 
displaying in their architecture new forms of the 
graceful Byzantine school, which the architects 
of Munich have adapted in a striking manner to 
so many varied purposes. On each side stands 
a splendid colossal fountain of bronze, throwing 
up a. great mass of water, which falls in a triple 
cataract to the marble basin below. A short 
distance beyond this square the Ludwigstrasse 
terminates. It is said the end will be closed by 
a magnificent gate, on a style to correspond 
with the unequalled avenue to which it will give 
entrance. To one standing at the southern end, 
it would form a proper termination to the 
grand vista. Before we leave, turn around and 
glance back, down this street, which extends for 
half a mile between such buildings as we have 
just viewed, and tell me if it is not something of 
which a city and a king may boast, to have 
created all this within less than twenty years. 

We went one morning to see the collection of 
paintings formerly belonging to Eugene Beau- 
harnois, who was a brother-in-law to the present 
king of Bavaria, in the palace of his son, the 



238 VIEWS A- FOOT. 

Duke of Leuchtenberg. The first hall contains 
works principally by French artists, among 
which are two by Gerard — a beautiful portrait 
of Josephine, and the blind Belisarius carrying 
his dead companion. The boy's head lies on the 
old man's shoulder; but for the livid paleness of 
his limbs, he would seem to be only asleep, while 
a deep and settled sorrow marks the venerable 
features of the unfortunate Emperor. In the 
middle of the room are six pieces of statu- 
ary, among which Canova's world-renowned 
group of the Graces at once attracts the eye. 
There is also a kneeling Magdalen, lovely in her 
woe, by the same sculptor, and a very touching 
work of Schadow, representing a shepherd boy 
tenderly binding his sash around a lamb which 
he has accidentally wounded with his arrow. 

We have since seen in the St. Michael's Church, 
the monument to Eugene Beauharnois, from the 
chisel of Thorwaldsen. The noble, manly figure 
of the son of Josephine is represented in the Ro- 
man mantle, with his helmet and sword lying on 
the ground by him. On one side sits History, 
writing on a tablet; on the other, stand the two 
brother angels, Death and Immortality. They 
lean lovingly together, with arms around each 
other, but the sweet countenance of Death has a 
cast of sorrow, as he stands with inverted torch 
and a wreath of poppies among his clustering 
locks. Immortality, crowned with never-fading 
flowers, looks upwards with a smile of triumph, 
and holds in one hand his blazing torch. It is 
a beautiful idea, and Thorwaldsen has made the 
marble eloquent with feeling. 

The inside of the square formed by the Arcades 
and the New Residence, is filled with noble old 
trees, which in summer make a leafy roof over 
the pleasant walks. In the middle, stands a 
grotto, ornamented with rough pebbles and 
shells, and only needing a fountain to make it a 
perfect hall of Neptune. Passing through the 



THE NE W RESIDENCE. 239 

northern Arcade, one comes into the magnificent 
park, called the English Garden, which extends 
more than four miles along the bank of thelsar, 
several branches of whose milky current wander 
through it, and form one or two pretty cascades. 
It is a beautiful alteration of forest and meadow, 
and has all the richness and garden-like luxu- 
riance of English scenery. Winding walks lead 
along the Isar, or through the wood of vener- 
able oaks, and sometimes a lawn of half a mile 
in length, with a picturesque temple at its farther 
end, comes in sight through the trees. I was bet- 
ter pleased with this park than with the Prater in 
Vienna. Its paths are always filled with persons 
enjoying the change from the dusty streets to 
its quiet and cool retirement. 

The New Kesidence is not only one of the won- 
ders of Munich, but of the world. Although 
commenced in 1826 and carried on constantly 
since that time by a number of architects, sculp- 
tors and painters, it is not yet finished; if art 
were not inexhaustible it would be difficult to 
imagine what more could be added. The north 
side of the Max Joseph Platz is taken up by its 
front of four hundred and thirty feet, which was 
nine years in building, under the direction of the 
architect Klenze. The exterior is copied after 
Palazzo Pitti, in Florence. The building is of 
light brown sandstone, and combines an ele- 
gance and even splendor, with the most chaste 
and classic style. The northern front, which 
faces on the Koyal Garden, is now nearly fin- 
ished. It has the enormous length of eight hun- 
dred feet ; in the middle is a portico of ten Ionic 
columns ; instead of supporting a triangular fa- 
cade, each pillar stands separate and bears a 
marble statue from the chisel of Schwanthaler. 

The interior of the building does not disap- 
point the promise of the outside. It is open 
every afternoon in the absence of the king, for 
the inspection of visitors ; fortunately for us, his 



240 VIEWS A- FOOT. 

majesty is at present on a journey through hi» 
provinces on the Khine. We went early to the 
waiting hall, where several travellers were al- 
ready assembled, and at four o'clock, were ad- 
mitted into the newer part of the palace, con- 
taining the throne hall, ball room, etc. On 
entering the first hall, designed for the lackeys 
and royal servants, we were all obliged to 
thrust our feet into cloth slippers to walk over 
the polished mosaic floor. The walls are of sca- 
gliola marble and the ceilings ornamented bril- 
liantly in fresco. The second hall, also for serv- 
ants, gives tokens of increasing splendor in the 
richer decorations of the walls and the more 
elaborate mosaic of the floor. We next entered 
the receiving saloon, in which the Court Mar- 
shal receives the guests. The ceiling is of ara- 
besque sculpture, profusely painted and gilded. 
Passing through a little cabinet, we entered the 
great dancing saloon. Its floor is the richest 
mosaic of wood of different colors, the sides are 
of polished scagliola marble, and the ceiling a 
dazzling mixture of sculpture, painting and gold. 
At one end is a gallery for the orchestra, sup- 
ported by six columns of variegated marble, 
above which are six dancing nymphs, painted so 
beautifully that they appear like living creatures. 
Every decoration which could be devised has 
been used to heighten its splendor, and the 
artists appear to have made free use of the Ara- 
bian Knights in forming the plan. 

We entered next two smaller rooms containing 
the portraits of beautiful women, principally 
from the German nobility. I gave the prefer- 
ence to the daughter of Marco Bozzaris, now 
maid of honor to the Queen of Greece. She had 
a wild dark eye, a beautiful proud lip, and her 
rich black hair rolled in glossy waves down her 
neck from under the red Grecian cap stuck 
jauntily on the side of her head. She wore a 
scarf and close-fitting vest- embroidered with. 



HALL OF THE THRONE. 241 

gold, and there was a free, lofty spirit in her 
countenance worthy the name she bore. These 
pictures form a gallery of beauty, whose equal 
cannot easily be found. 

Returning to the dancing hall, we entered the 
dining saloon, also palled the Hall of Charle- 
magne. Each wall has two magnificent fresco 
paintings of very large size, representing some 
event in the life of the great emperor, beginning 
with his annointing at St. Deny's as a boy of 
twelve years, and ending with his coronation by 
Leo III. A second dining saloon, the Hall of 
Barbarossa, adjoins the first. It has also eight 
frescoes as the former, representing the principal 
events in the life of Frederic Barbarossa. Then 
comes a third, called the Hapsburg Hall, with 
four grand paintings from the life of Rudolph of 
Hapsburg, and a triumphal procession along 
the frieze, showing the improvement in the arts 
and sciences which was accomplished under his 
reign. The drawing, composition and rich tone 
of coloring of these glorious frescoes, are 
scarcely excelled by any in existence. 

Finally we entered the Hall of the Throne. 
Here the encaustic decoration, so plentifully em- 
ployed in the other rooms, is dropped, and an 
effect even more brilliant obtained by the united 
use of marble and gold. Picture a long hall with 
a floor of polished marble, on each side twelve 
columns of white marble with gilded capitals, 
between which stand colossal statues of gold. 
At the other end is the throne of gold and crim- 
son, with gorgeous hangings of crimson velvet. 
The twelve statues in the hall are called the 
"Wittlesbach Ancestors," and represent re- 
nowned members of the house of Wittlesbach 
from which the present family of Bavaria is de- 
scended. They were cast in bronze by Stiglmaier, 
after the models of Schwanthaler, and then com- 
pletely covered with a coating of gold, so that 
they resemble solid golden sta<tues. The value 



242 VIEWS A- FOOT. 

of the precious metal on each one is about $3,000, 
as they are nine feet in height ! What would the 
politicians who made such an outcry about the 
new papering of the President's House, say to 
such a palace as this ? 

Going back to the starting point, we went 
to the other wing of the edifice and joined the 
party who came to visit the apartments of the 
king. Here we were led through two or three 
rooms, appropriated to the servants, with all 
the splendor of marble doors, floors of mosaic, 
and frescoed ceilings. From these we entered 
the king's dwelling. The entrance halls are dec- 
orated with paintings of the Argonauts and illus- 
trations of the Hymns of Hesiod, after drawings 
by Schwanthaler. Then came the Service Hall, 
containing frescoes illustrating Homer, by 
Schnorr, and the Throne Hall, with Schwanthal- 
er' s bas-reliefs of the songs of Pindar, on a 
ground of gold. The throne stands under a 
splendid crimson canopy. The Dining Koom 
with its floor of polished wood is filled with illus- 
trations of the songs of Anacreon. To these 
follow the Dressing Room, with twenty-seven il- 
lustrations of the Comedies of Aristophanes, and 
the sleeping chamber with frescoes after the 
poems of Theocritus, and two beautiful bas-re- 
liefs representing angels bearing children to 
Heaven. It is no wonder the King writes poetry 
when he breathes, eats, and even sleeps in an 
atmosphere of it. 

We were shown the rooms for the private 
parties of the Court, the school-room, with 
scenes from the life of the Ancient Greeks, and 
then conducted down the marble staircase to 
the lower story, which is to contain Schnorr's 
magnificent frescoes of the Nibelungen Lied — 
the old German Iliad. Two halls are at present 
finished ; the first has the figure of the author, 
Heinrich von Ofterdingen, and those of Chriem- 
hilde, Brunbilde, Siegfried and the other person- 



THE ROTAL CHAPEL. 243 

ages of the poem; and the second, called the 
Marriage Hall, contains the marriage of Chriem- 
hilde and Siegfried, and the triumphal entry of 
Siegfried into Worms. 

Adjoining the new residence on the east, is the 
Royal Chapel, lately finished in the Byzantine 
style, under the direction of Klenze. To enter 
it, is like stepping into a casket of jewels. The 
sides are formed by a double range of arches, 
the windows being so far back as to be almost 
out of sight, so that the eye falls on nothing but 
painting and gold. The lower row of arches is 
of alternate green and purple marble, beauti- 
fully polished; but the upper, as well as the small 
chancel behind the high altar, is entirely covered 
with fresco paintings on a ground of gold! 
The richness and splendor of the whole church is 
absolutely incredible. Even after one has seen 
the Ludwig's Kirche and the Residence itself, it 
excites astonishment. I was surprised, however, 
to find at this age, a painting on the wall behind 
the altar, representing the Almighty. It seems 
as if man's presumption has no end. The sim- 
ple altar of Athens, with its inscription " to the 
Unknown God," was more truly reverent than 
this. As I sat down awhile under one of the 
arches, a poor woman came in, carrying a heavy 
basket, and going to the steps which led up to 
the altar, knelt down and prayed, spreading her 
arms out in the form of a cross. Then, after 
stooping and kissing the first step, she dragged 
herself with her knees upon it, and commenced 
praying again with outspread arms. This she 
continued till she had climbed them all, which 
occupied some time ; then, as if she had fulfilled 
a vow she turned and departed. She was un- 
doubtedly sincere in her piety, but it made me 
sad to look upon such deluded superstition. 

We visited yesterday morning the Glyptothek, 
the finest collection of ancient sculpture except 
that in the British Museum, I have yet seen, and 



244 VIEWS AFOOT. 

perhaps elsewhere unsurpassed, north of the 
Alps. The building which was finished by 
Klenze, in 1830, has an Ionic portico of white 
marble, with a group of allegorical figures, rep- 
resenting Sculpture and the kindred arts. On 
each side of the portico, there are three niches in 
the front, containing on one side, Pericles, Phid- 
ias and "Vulcan ; on the other, Hadrian, Prome- 
theus and Daedalus. The whole building forms 
a hollow square, and is lighted entirely from the 
inner side. There are in all twelve halls, each 
containing the remains of a particular era in the 
art, and arranged according to time, so that, 
beginning with the clumsy productions of the 
ancient Egyptians, one passes through the differ- 
ent stages of Grecian art, afterwards that of 
Rome, and finally ends with the works of our 
own times — the almost Grecian perfection of 
Thorwaldsen and Canova. These halls are 
worthy to hold such treasures, and what more 
could, be said of them ? The floors are of mar- 
ble mosaic, the sides of green or purple scagliola, 
and the vaulted ceilings covered with raised or- 
naments on a ground of gold. No two are alike 
in color and decoration, and yet there is a unity 
of taste and design in the whole, which renders 
the variety delightful. 

From the Egyptian Hall, we enter one con- 
taining the oldest remains of Grecian sculpture, 
before the artists won power to mould the 
marble to their conceptions. Then follow the 
celebrated Egina marbles, from the temple of 
Jupiter Panhellenius, on the island of Egina. 
They formerly stood in the two porticoes, the 
one group representing the fight for the body of 
Laomedon, the other the struggle for the dead 
Patroclus. The parts wanting have been ad- 
mirably restored by Thorwaldsen. They form 
almost the only existing specimens of the Egine- 
tan school. Passing through the Apollo Hall, 
we enter the large hall of Bacchus, in which the 



THE PINACOTHEK. 245 

progress of the art is distinctly apparent. A 
satyr, lying asleep on a goat-skin which he has 
thrown over a rock, is believed to be the work 
of Praxiteles. The relaxation of the figure and 
perfect repose of every limb, is wonderful. The 
countenance has traits of individuality which 
led me to think it might have been a portrait, 
perhaps of some rude country swain. 

In the Hall of Niobe, which follows, is one of 
the most perfect works that ever grew into life 
under a sculptor's chisel. Mutilated as it is, 
without head and arms, I never saw a more ex- 
pressive figure. Ilioneus, the son of Mobe, is 
represented as kneeling, apparently in the mo- 
ment in which Apollo raises his arrow, and there 
is an imploring supplication in his attitude 
which is touching in the highest degree. His 
beautiful yoimg limbs seem to shrink involun- 
tarily from the deadly shaft ; there is an expres- 
sion of prayer, almost of agony, in the position 
of his body. It should be left untouched. No 
head could be added, which would equal that 
one pictures to himself, while gazing upon it. 

The Pinacothek is a magnificent building of 
yellow sandstone, five hundred and thirty feet 
long, containing thirteen hundred pictures, se- 
lected with great care from the whole private 
collection of the king, which amounts to nine 
thousand. Above the cornice on the southern 
side, stand twenty-five colossal statues of cele- 
brated painters, by Schwanthaler. As we ap- 
proached, the tall bronze door was opened by a 
servant in the Bavarian livery, whose size har- 
monized so well with the giant proportions of 
the building, that until I stood beside him and 
could mark the contrast, I did not notice his 
enormous frame. I saw then that he must be 
near eight feet high, and stout in proportion. 
He reminded me of the great " Baver of Trient," 
in Vienna. The Pinacothek contains the most 
complete collection of works by old German art- 



246 VIEWS A- FOOT, 

ists, anywhere to be found. There are in the 
hall of the Spanish masters, half a dozen of Mu- 
rillo's inimitable beggar groups. It was a relief, 
after looking upon the distressingly stiff figures 
of the old German school, to view these fresh, 
natural countenances. One little black-eyed 
boy has just cut a slice out of a melon and turns 
with a full mouth to his companion, who is busy 
eating a bunch of grapes. The simple, con- 
tented expression on the faces of the beggars is 
admirable. I thought I detected in a beautiful 
child, with dark curly locks, the original of his 
celebrated Infant St. John. I was much inter- 
ested in two small juvenile works of Eaphael and 
his own portrait. The latter was taken most 
probably after he became known as a painter. 
The calm, serious smile which we see on his por- 
trait as a boy, had vanished, and the thin feat- 
ures and sunken eye told of intense mental 
labor. 

One of the most remarkable buildings now in 
the course of erection is the Basilica, or Church 
of St. Bonifacius. It represents another form of 
the Byzantine style, a kind«of double edifice, a 
little like a North Kiver steamboat, with a two 
story cabin on deck. The inside is not yet fin- 
ished, although the artists have been at work on 
it for six years, but we heard many accounts of 
its splendor, which is said to exceed anything 
that has been yet done in Munich. We visited 
to-day the atelier of Schwanthaler, which is al- 
ways open to strangers. The sculptor himself 
was not there, but five or six of his scholars were 
at work in the rooms, building up clay statues 
after his models and working out bas-reliefs in 
frames. We saw here the original models of the 
statues on the Pinacothek, and the "Whittels- 
bach Ancestors" in the Throne Hall of the pal- 
ace. I was glad also to find a miniature copy in 
plaster, of the Herrmannsschlacht, or combat of 
the old German hero, Herrmann, with the Bo- 



A MECHANIC^ STORT. 247 

mans, from the frieze of Walhalla, at Ratisbon . 
It is one of Schwanthaler's best works. Herr- 
mann, as the middle figure, is represented in 
fight with the Roman general; behind him the 
warriors are rushing on, and an old bard is strik- 
ing the chords of his harp to inspire them, while 
women bind up the wounds of the fallen. The 
Roman soldiers on the other side are about 
turning in confusion to fly. It is a lofty and ap- 
propriate subject for the portico of a building 
containing the figures of the men who have la- 
bored for the glory and elevation of their Fath- 
erland. 

Our new-found Mend came to visit us last 
evening and learn our impressions of Munich. 
In the course of conversation we surprised him 
by revealing the name of our country. His 
countenance brightened up and he asked us 
many questions about the state of society in 
America. In return, he told us something more 
about himself— his story was simple, but it in- 
terested me. His father was a merchant, who, 
having been ruined by unlucky transactions, 
died, leaving a numerous family without the 
means of support. His children were obliged to 
commence life alone and unaided, which, in a 
country where labor is so cheap, is difficult and 
disheartening. Our friend chose the profession 
of a machinist, which, after encountering great 
obstacles, he succeeded in learning, and now 
supports himself as a common laborer. But his 
position, in this respect, prevents him from 
occupying that station in society for which he 
is intellectually fitted. His own words, uttered 
with a simple pathos which I can never forget, 
will best describe how painful this must be to a 
sensitive spirit. "I tell you thus frankly my 
feelings," said he, "because I know you will 
understand me. I could not say this to any of 
my associates, for they would not comprehend 
it, and they would say I am proud, because J 



248 Views A- foot. 

cannot bring my sonl down to their level. I ant 
poor and have but little to subsist upon ; but 
the spirit has needs as well as the body, and I 
feel it a duty and a desire to satisfy them also. 
When I am with any of my common fellow- 
laborers, what do I gain from them? Their 
leisure hours are spent in drinking and idle 
amusement, and I cannot join them, for I have 
no sympathy with such things. To mingle with 
those above me would be impossible. Therefore 
I am alone — I have no associate! " 

I have gone into minute, and it may be, tire- 
some detail, in describing some of the edifices of 
Munich, because it seemed the only way in which 
I could give an idea of their wonderful beauty. 
It is true that in copying after the manner of 
the daguerreotype, there is danger of imitating 
its dullness also, but I trust to the glitter of 
gold and rich paintings, for a little brightness 
in the picture. We leave to-morrow morning, 
having received the sum written for, which, to 
our surprise, will be barely sufficient to enable 
us to reach Heidelberg. 



CHAPTER XXVII. 

THROUGH WURTEMBERG TO HEIDELBERG. 

We left Munich in the morning train for Augs- 
burg. Between the two cities extends a vast un- 
broken plain, exceedingly barren and monoto- 
nous. Here and there is a little scrubby wood- 
land, and sometimes we passed over a muddy 
stream which came down from the Alps. The 
land is not more than half -cultivated, and the- 
villages are small and poor. We saw many of 
the peasants at their stations, in their gay Sun- 



AUGSBURG. 249 

day dresses ; the women wore short gowns with 
laced boddices, of gay colors, and little caps on 
the top of their heads, with streamers of ribbons 
three feet long. After two hours' ride, we saw 
the tall towers of Augsburg, and alighted on the 
outside of the wall. The deep moat which sur- 
rounds the city, is all grown over with velvet 
turf, the towers and bastions are empty and 
desolate, and we passed unchallenged under the 
gloomy archway. Immediately on entering the 
city, signs of its ancient splendor are apparent. 
The houses are old, many of them with quaint, 
elaborately carved ornaments, and often cov- 
ered with fresco paintings. These generally rep- 
resent some scene from the Bible history, en- 
circled with arabesque borders, and pious max- 
ims in illuminated scrolls. We went into the old 
Rathhaus, whose golden hall still speaks of the 
days of Augsburg's pride. I saw in the base- 
ment a bronze eagle, weighing sixteen tons, with 
an inscription on the pedestal stating that it 
was cast in 1606, and formerly stood on the top 
of an old public building, since torn down. 
In front of the Kathhaus is a fine bronze fount- 
ain, with a number of figures of angels and tri- 
tons. 

The same afternoon, we left Augsburg for Ulm. 
Long, low ranges of hills, running from the Dan- 
ube,' stretched far across the country, and be- 
tween them lay many rich, green valleys. We 
passed, occasionally, large villages, perhaps as 
old as the times of the crusaders, and looking 
quite pastoral and romantic from the outside ; 
but we were always glad when we had gone 
through them and into the clean country again. 
The afternoon of the second day we came in 
sight of the fertile plain of the Danube ; far, far 
to the right lay the field of Blenheim, where 
Marlborough and the Prince Eugene conquered 
the united French and Bavarian forces and de- 
cided the war of the Spanish succession. 



'M VIEWS AFOOT. 

We determined to reach Ulm the same evening 1 , 
although a heavy storm was raging along the 
distant hills of Wurtemberg. The dark mass 
of the mighty Cathedral rose in the distance 
through the twilight, a perfect mountain in com- 
parison with the little nouses clustered around 
its base. We reached New Ulm, finally, and 
passed over the heavy wooden bridge into Wur- 
temberg, unchallenged for passport or baggage. 
I thought I could feel a difference in the atmos- 
phere when I reached the other side — it breathed 
of the freer spirit that ruled through the land. 
The Danube is here a little muddy stream, 
hardly as large as my native Brandywine, and a 
traveller who sees it at Ulm for the first time 
would most probably be disappointed. It is not 
until below Vienna, where it receives the Drave 
and Save, that it becomes a river of more than 
ordinary magnitude. 

We entered Ulm, as I have already said. It 
was after nine o'clock, nearly dark, and begin- 
ning to rain ; we had walked thirty-three miles, 
and being of course tired, we entered the first 
inn we saw. But, to our consternation, it was 
impossible to get a place — the fair had just com- 
menced, and the inn was full to the roof. We 
must needs hunt another, and then another, and 
yet another, with like fate at each. It grew 
quite dark, the rain increased, and we were un- 
acquainted with the city. I grew desperate, and 
at last, when we had stopped at the eighth inn in 
vain, I told the people we must have lodgings, 
for it was impossible we should walk around in 
the rain all night. Some of the guests interfer- 
ing in our favor, the hostess finally sent a serv- 
ant with us to the first hotel in the city. I told 
him on the way we were Americans, strangers in 
Ulm, and not accustomed to sleeping in the 
streets. "Well," said he, "I will go before, and 
recommend you to the landlord of the Golden 
Wheel." I knew not what magic he used, but in 



CA THEDRAL A T ULM. 2S1 

half an hour our weary limbs were stretched in 
delightful repose and we thanked Heaven more 
gratefully than ever before, for the blessing of a 
good bed. 

Next morning we ran about through the 
booths of the fair, and gazed up from all sides 
at the vast Cathedral.' The style is the simplest 
and grandest Gothic ; but the tower, which, to 
harmonize with the body of the church, should 
be 520 feet high, was left unfinished at the height 
of 234 feet. I could not enough admire the 
grandeur of proportion in the great building. 
It seemed singular that the little race of ani- 
mals who swarmed around its base, should have 
the power to conceive or execute such a gigantic 
work. 

There is an immense fortification now in pro- 
gress of erection behind Ulm. It leans on the 
side of the hill which rises from the Danube, and 
must be nearly a mile in length. Hundreds of 
laborers are at work, and from the appearance 
of the foundations, many years will be required 
to finish it. The lofty mountain-plain which we 
afterwards passed over, for eight or ten miles, 
divides the waters of the Danube from theKhine. 
From the heights above Ulm, we bade adieu to 
the far, misty Alps, till we shall see them again 
in Switzerland. Late in the afternoon, we came 
to a lovely green valley sunk as it were in the 
earth. Around us, on all sides, stretched the 
bare, lofty plains ; but the valley lay below, its 
steep sides covered with the richest forest. At 
the bottom flowed the Fils. Our road led di- 
rectly down the side; the glen spread out broader 
as we advanced, and smiling villages stood be- 
side the stream. A short distance before reach- 
ing Esslingen, we came upon the banks of the 
Neckar, whom we hailed as an old acquaintance, 
although much smaller here in his mountain 
home than when he sweeps the walls of Heidel- 
berg. 



iJ52 VIEWS A- FOOT. 

Delightful Wurtemberg ! Shall I ever forget thy 
lovely green vales, watered by the classic current 
of the Neckar, or thy lofty hills covered with 
vineyards and waving forests, and crowned with 
heavy ruins, that tell many a tale of Barbarossa 
and Duke Ulric and Goetz with the Iron Hand ! 
No — were even the Suabian hills less beautiful — 
were the Suabian people less faithful and kind 
and true, still I would love the land for the great 
spirits it has produced; still would the birth- 
place of Frederick Schiller, of Uhland and Hauff, 
be sacred. I do not wonder Wurtemberg can 
boast such glorious poets. Its lovely landscapes 
seem to have been made expressly for the cradle 
of genius ; amid no other scenes could his infant 
mind catch a more benign inspiration. Even 
the common people are deeply imbued with a 
poetic feeling. We saw it in their friendly greet- 
ings and open, expressive countenances; it is 
shown in their love for their beautful homes and 
the rapture and reverence with which they speak 
of their country's bards. No river in the world, 
equal to the Neckar in size, flows for its whole 
course through more delightful scenery, or 
among kinder and happier people. 

After leaving Esslingen, we followed its banks 
for some time, at the foot of an amphitheatre of 
hills, covered to the very summit, a,s far as the 
eye could reach, with vineyards. The morning 
was cloudy, and white mist-wreaths hung along 
the sides. We took a road that led over the top 
of a range, and on arriving at the summit, saw 
all at once the city of Stuttgard, lying beneath 
our feet. It lay in a basin encircled by mount- 
ains, with a narrow valley opening to the 
south-east, and running off between the hills to 
the Neckar. The situation of the city is one of 
wonderful beauty, and even after seeing Salz- 
burg, I could not but be charmed with it. 

We descended the mountain and entered it. I 
inquired immediately for the monument of 



RAINT TRA VRLLING. 253 

Schiller, for there was little else in the city I 
cared to see. We had become tired of run- 
ning about cities, hunting this or that old 
church or palace, which perhaps was nothing 
when found. Stuttgard has neither galleries, 
ruins, nor splendid buildings, to interest the 
traveller : but it has Thorwaldsen's statue of 
Schiller, calling up at the same time its shame 
and its glory. For the poet in his youth was 
obliged to fly from this very same city — from 
home and friends, to escape the persecution of 
the government on account of the free senti- 
ments expressed in his early works. We found 
the statue, without much difficulty. It stands 
in the Schloss Platz, at the southern end of the 
city, in an unfavorable situation, surrounded by 
dark old buildings. It should rather be placed 
aloft on a mountain summit, in the pure, free 
air of heaven, braving the storm and the tem- 
pest. The figure is fourteen feet high and stands 
on a pedestal of bronze, with bas-reliefs on the 
four sides. The head, crowned with a laurel 
wreath, is inclined as if in deep thought, and all 
the earnest soul is seen in the countenance. 
Thorwaldsen has copied so truly the expression 
of poetic reverie, that I waited, half-expecting 
he would raise his head and look around him. 

As we passed out the eastern gate, the work- 
men were busy near the city, making an em- 
bankment for the new railroad to Heilbroun, 
and we were obliged to wade through half a 
mile of mud. Finally the road turned to the 
left over a mountain, and we walked on in the 
rain, regardless of the touching entreaties of an 
omnibus-driver, who felt a great concern for 
our health, especially as he had two empty 
seats. There is a peculiarly agreeable sensation 
in walking in a storm, when the winds sweep by 
and the rain-drops rattle through the trees, and 
the dark clouds roll past just above one's head. 
It gives a dash of sublimity to the most com- 



254 VIEWS A- FOOT. 

raon scene. If the rain did not finally soak 
through the boots, and if one did not lose every 
romantic feeling in wet garments, I would pre- 
fer storm to sunshine, for visiting some kinds of 
scenery. You remember, we saw the North 
Coast of Ireland and the Giant's Causeway in 
stormy weather, at the expense of being com- 
pletely drenched, it is true; but our recollections 
of that wild day's journey are as vivid as any 
event of our lives — and the name of the Giant's 
Causeway calls up a series of pictures as terribly 
sublime as any we would wish to behold. 

The rain at last did come down a little too 
hard for comfort, and we were quite willing to 
take shelter when we reached Ludwigsburg. 
This is here called a new city, having been laid 
out with broad streets and spacious squares, 
about a century ago, and is now about the size 
of our five-year old city of Milwaukee ! It is the 
chief military station of Wurtemberg, and has a 
splendid castle and gardens, belonging to the 
king. A few miles to the eastward is the little 
village where Schiller was born. It is said the 
house where his parents lived is still standing. 

It was not the weather alone, which prevented 
our making a pilgrimage to it, nor was it alone 
a peculiar fondness for rain which induced us to 
persist in walking in the storm. Our feeble 
pockets, if they could have raised an audible 
jingle, would have told another tale. Our 
scanty allowance was dwindling rapidly away, 
in spite of a desperate system of economy. We 
left Ulm with a florin and a half apiece — about 
sixty cents — to walk to Heibelberg, a distance 
of 110 miles. It was the evening of the third 
day, and this was almost exhausted. As soon 
therefore as the rain slackened a little, we 
started again, although the roads were very 
bad. At Betigheim, where we passed the night, 
the people told us of a much nearer and more 
beautiful road, passing through the Zabergau, 



THE ZEBERGA U REGION. 255 

a region famed for its fertility and pastoral 
beauty. At the inn we were charged higher than 
usual for a bed, so that we had but thirteen 
kreutzers to start with in the morning. Our 
fare that day was a little bread and water ; we 
walked steadily on, but owing to the wet roads, 
made only thirty miles. 

A more delightful region than the Zabergau I 
have seldom passed through. The fields were 
full of rich, heavy grain, and the trees had a lux- 
uriance of foliage that reminded me of the vale 
of the Jed, in Scotland. Without a single hedge 
or fence, stood the long sweep of hills, covered 
with waving fields of grain, except where they 
were steep and rocky, and the vineyard terraces 
rose one above another. Sometimes a fine old 
forest grew along the summit, like a mane wav- 
ing back from the curved neck of a steed, and 
white villages lay coiled in the valleys between. 
A line of blue mountains always closed the vista, 
on looking down one of these long valleys; oc- 
casionally a ruined castle with donjon tower, 
was seen on a mountain at the side, making 
the picture complete. As we lay sometimes on 
the hillside and looked on one of those sweet 
vales, we were astonished at its Arcadian 
beauty. The meadows were as smooth as a 
mirror, and there seemed to be scarcely a grass- 
blade out of place. The streams wound through 
(■'snaked themselves through," is the German 
expression,) with a subdued ripple, as if they 
feared to displace a pebble, and the great ash 
trees which stood here and there, had lined each 
of their leaves as carefully with silver and 
turned them as gracefully to the wind, as if they 
were making their toilets for the gala-day of 
nature. 

That evening brought us into the dominions 
of Baden, within five hours' walk of Heidelberg. 
At the humblest inn in an humble village, we 
found a bed which we could barely pay for, 



256 VIEWS A-FOOT. 

leaving a kreutzer or two for breakfast. Soon 
after starting the next morning, the distant 
Kaiserstuhl suddenly emerged from the mist, 
with the high tower on its summit, where nearly 
ten months before, we sat and looked at the 
summits of the Vosges in France, with all the 
excitement one feels on entering a foreign land. 
Now, the scenery around that same Kaiserstuhl 
was nearly as familiar to us as that of our own 
homes. Entering the hills again, we knew by 
the blue mountains of the Odenwald, that we 
were approaching the Neckar. At length we 
reached the last height. The town of Neckar- 
gemund lay before us on the steep hillside, and 
the mountains on either side were scarred with 
quarries of the rich red sandstone, so much used 
in building. The blocks are hewn out, high up 
on the mountain side, and then sent rolling 
and sliding down to the river, where they are 
laden in boats and floated down with the cur- 
rent to the distant cities of the Rhine. 

"We were rejoiced on turning around the cor- 
ner of a mountain, to see on the opposite side of 
the river, the road winding up through the for- 
ests, where last fall our Heidelberg friends 
accompanied us, as we set out to walk to Frank- 
fort, through the Odenwald. Many causes com- 
bined to render it a glad scene to us. We were going 
to meet our comrade again, after a separation 
of months; w r e were bringing an eventful journey 
to its close; and finally, we were weak and worn 
out from fasting and the labor of walking in the 
rain. A little further we saw Kloster Neuburg, 
formerly an old convent, and remembered how 
we used to look at it every day from the win- 
dows of our room on the Neckar; but we 
shouted aloud, when we saw at last the well- 
known bridge spanning the river, and the glor- 
ious old castle lifting its shattered towers from 
the side of the mountain above us. I always 
felt a strong attachment to this matchless ruin, 



BURIAL BY TORCHLIGHT. 257 

and as I beheld it again, with the warm sun- 
shine falling through each broken arch, the wild 
ivy draping its desolate chambers, it seemed to 
smile on me like the face of a friend, and I con- 
fessed I had seen many a grander scene, but few 
that would cling to the memory so familiarly. 

While we were in Heidelberg, a student was 
buried by torchlight. This is done when partic- 
ular honor is shown to the memory of the 
departed brother. They assembled at dark in 
the University Square, each with a blazing pine 
torch three feet long, and formed into a double 
line. Between the files walked at short dis- 
tances an officer, who, with his sword, broad 
lace collar, and the black and white plumes in 
his cap, looked like a cavalier of the olden time. 
Persons with torches walked on each side of the 
hearse, and the band played a lament so deeply 
mournful, that the scene, notwithstanding its 
singularity, was very sad and touching. The 
thick smoke from the torches filled the air, and 
a lurid, red light was cast over the hushed 
crowds in the streets and streamed into the 
dark alleys. The Hauptstrasse was filled with 
two lines of flame, as the procession passed 
down it ; when they reached the extremity of the 
city, the hearse went on, attended with torch- 
bearers, to the Cemetery, some distance further, 
and the students turned back, running and 
whirling their torches in mingled confusion. 
The music struck up a merry march, and in the 
smoke and red glare, they looked like a com- 
pany of mad demons. The presence of death 
awed them to silence for awhile, but as soon as 
it had left them, they turned relieved to revel 
again and thought no more of the lesson. It 
gave me a painful feeling to see them rushing so 
wildly and disorderly back. They assembled 
again in the square, and tossing their torches 
up into the air cast them blazing into a pile; 
while the flame and black smoke rose in a col- 



25S VIEWS A-FOOT. 

umn into the air, they sang in solemn chorus, 
the song "Gaudeanms igitur," with which they 
close all public assemblies. 

I shall neglect telling how we left Heidelberg, 
and walked along the Bergstrasse again, for the 
sixth time; how we passed the old Melibochus 
and through the quiet city of Darmstadt ; how 
we watched the blue summits of the Taunus ris- 
ing higher and higher over the plain, as a new 
land rises from the sea,, and finally, how we 
reached at last the old watch-tower and looked 
down on the valley of the Main, clothed in the 
bloom and verdure of summer, with the houses 
and spires of Frankfort in the middle of the well- 
known panorama. We again took possession 
of our old rooms, and having to wait for a 
remittance from America, as well as a more 
suitable season for visiting Italy, we sat down 
to a month's rest and study. 



CHAPTER III. 

FREIBURG AND THE BLACK FOREST. 

Frankfort, July 29, 1845.— It would be ingrat- 
itude towards the old city in which I have passed 
so many pleasant and profitable hours, to leave 
it, perhaps forever, without a few words of fare- 
well. How often will the old bridge with its 
view up the Main, over the houses of Oberrad to 
the far mountains of the Odenwald, rise freshly 
and distinctly in memory, when I shall have 
been long absent from them ! How often will I 
hear in fancy as I now do in reality, the heavy 
tread of passers-by, on the rough pavement be- 
low, and the deep bell of the Cathedral, chiming 
the swift hours, with a hollow tone that seems 



THE BLACK FOREST. 259 

to warn me, rightly to employ them ! Even this 
old room, with its bare walls, little table and 
chairs, which I have thought and studied in so 
long, that it seems difficult to think and study 
anywhere else, will crowd out of memory images 
of many a loftier scene. May I but preserve 
for the future the hope and trust which have 
cheered and sustained me here, through the sor- 
row of absence and the anxiety of uncertain toil ! 
It is growing towards midnight, and I think of 
many a night when I sat here at this hour, an- 
swering the spirit-greeting which friends sent me 
at sunset over the sea. All this has now an end. 
I must begin a new wandering, and perhaps in 
ten days more I shall have a better place for 
thought, among the mountain chambers of the 
everlasting Alps. I look forward to the journey 
with romantic, enthusiastic anticipation, for 
afar in the silvery distance, stand the Coliseum 
and St. Peter's, Vesuvius and the lovely Naples. 
Farewell, friends who have so long given us a 
home! 

Aug. 9.— The airy, basket-work tower of the 
Freiburg Minster rises before me over the black 
roofs of thehouses, and behind stand the gloomy, 
pine-covered mountains of the Black Forest. 
Of our walk to Heidelberg over the oft-trodden 
Bergstrasse, I shall say nothing, nor how we 
climbed the Kaiserstuhl again, and danced 
around on the top of the tower for one hour, 
amid cloud and mist, while there was sunshine 
below in the valley of the Neckar. I left Heidel- 
berg yesterday morning in the stehwagen for 
Carlsruhe. The engine whistled, the train 
started, and although I kept my eyes steadily 
fixed on the spire of the Hauptkirche, three min- 
utes hid it, and all the rest of the city from sight. 
Carlsruhe, the capital of Baden, which we reached 
in an hour and a half, is unanimously pro- 
nounced by travellers to be a most dull and tire- 
some city. From a glance I had through on© 



260 VIEWS A- FOOT. 

of the gates, I should think its reputation was 
not undeserved. Even its name, in German, sig- 
nifies a place of repose. 

I stopped at Kork, on the branch road leading 
to Strasbourg, to meet a German-American 
about to return to my home in Pennsylvania, 
where he had lived for some time. I inquired 
according to the direction he had sent me to 
Frankfort, but he was not there; however, an 
old man, finding who I was, said Herr Otto had 
directed him to go with me to Hesselhurst, a 
village four or five miles off, where he would 
meet me. So we set off immediately over the 
plain and reached the village at dusk. 

At the little inn were several of the farmers of 
the neighborhood, who seemed to consider it 
as something extraordinary to see a real, live, 
native-born American. They overwhelmed me 
with questions about the state of our county, 
its government, etc. The hostess brought me a 
supper of fried eggs and wurst, while they gath- 
ered around the table and began a real category 
in the dialect of the country, which is difficult to 
understand. I gave them the best information 
I could about our mode of farming, the different 
kinds of produce raised, and the prices paid to 
laborers ; one honest old man cried out, on my 
saying I had worked on a farm, "Ah I little 
brother, give me your hand ! " which he shook 
most heartily. I told them also something 
about our government and the militia system, 
so different from the conscription of Europe, 
when a farmer becoming quite warm in our 
favor, said to the others with an air of the great- 
est decision: "One American is better than 
twenty Germans ! " What particularly amused 
me, was, that although I spoke German with 
them, they seemed to think I did not understand 
what they said among one another, and there- 
fore commented very freely over my appearance. 
I suppose they had the idea that we were a rude, 



FREIBURG. 261 

savage race, for I overheard one say: "One 
sees, nevertheless, that he has been educated ! " 
Their honest, unsophisticated mode of expression 
was very interesting to me, and we talked to- 
gether till a late hour. 

My friend arrived at three o'clock the next 
morning, and after two or three hours' talk 
about home, and the friends whom hr expected 
to see so much sooner than I, ^„ young 
farmer drove me in his wagon to Offenburg, 
a small city at the foot of the Black Forest, 
where I took the cars for Freiburg. The 
scenery between the two places is grand. The 
broad mountains of the Black Forest rear their 
fronts on the east, and the blue lines of the 
French Vosges meet the clouds on the west. 
The night before, in walking over the plain, I 
saw distinctly the whole of the Strasbourg Min- 
ster, whose spire is the highest in Europe, being 
four hundred and ninety feet, or but twenty-five 
feet lower than the Pyramid of Cheops. 

I visited the Minster of Freiburg yesterday 
morning. It is a grand, gloomy old pile, dating 
from the eleventh century — one of the few 
Gothic churches in Germany that have ever 
been completed. The tower of beautiful fret- 
work rises to the height of three hundred and 
ninety-five feet, and the body of the church, in- 
cluding the choir, is of the same length. The 
interior is solemn and majestic. Windows 
stained in colors that burn, let in a "dim, re- 
ligious light" which accords very well with the 
dark old pillars and antique shrines. In two of 
the chapels there are some fine altar-pieces by 
Holbein and one of his scholars ; and a very- 
large crucifix of silver and ebony, which is kept 
with great care, is said to have been carried with 
the Crusaders to the Holy Land. This morning 
was the great market-day, and the peasantry of 
the Black Forest came down from the mount- 
ains to dispose of their produce. The square 



262 VIEWS A -FOOT. 

around the Minster was filled with them, and the 
singular costume of the women gave the scene 
quite a strange appearance. Many of them 
Avore bright red head-dresses and shawls, others 
had high-crowned hats of yellow oil-cloth ; the 
young girls wore their hair in long plaits, reach- 
ing nearly to their feet. They brought grain, 
butter and cheese, and a great deal of line fruit 
to sell — I bought some of the wild, aromatic 
plums of the country, at the rate of thirty for a 
cent. 

The railroad has only been open to Freiburg 
within a few days, and is consequently an object 
of great curiosity to the peasants, many of 
whom never saw the like before. They throng 
around the station at the departure of the train 
and watch with great interest the operations of 
getting up the steam and starting. One of the 
scenes that grated most harshly oh my feelings, 
was seeing yesterday a company of women em- 
ployed on an unfinished part of the road. They 
were digging and shoveling away in the rain, 
nearly up to their knees in mud and clay ! 

I called at the Institute for the Blind, under 
the direction of Mr. Miiller. He showed me 
some beautiful basket and woven work by his 
pupils ; the accuracy and skill with which every 
thing was made astonished me. They read with 
amazing facility from the raised type, and by 
means of frames are taught to write with ease 
and distinctness. In music, that great solace of 
the blind, they most excelled. They sang with 
an expression so true and touching that it was 
a delight to listen. The system of instruction 
adopted appears to be most excellent, and gives 
to the blind nearly every advantage which their 
more fortunate brethren enjoy. 

I am indebted to Mr. Miiller, to whom I was 
introduced by an acquaintance with his friend, 
Dr. Rivinus, of West Chester, Pa., for many 
kind attentions. He went with us this afternoon 



THE STUDENTS. 263 

to the Jagerhaus, on a mountain near, where we 
had a very fine view of the city and its great 
black Minster, with the plain of the Briesgau, 
broken only by the Kaiserstuhl, a long mount- 
ain near the Rhine, whose golden stream glit- 
tered in the distance. On climbing the Schloss- 
berg, an eminence near the city, we met the 
Grand Duchess Stephanie, a natural daughter 
of Napoleon, as I have heard, and now generally 
believed to be the mother of Caspar Hauser. 
Through a work lately published, which has 
since been suppressed, the whole history has 
come to light. Caspar Hauser was the lineal de- 
scendant of the house of Baden, and heir to the 
throne. The guilt of his imprisonment and mur- 
der rests, therefore, upon the present reigning 
family. 

A chapel on the Schonberg, the mountain op- 
posite, was pointed out as the spot where Louis 
XV., if I mistake not, usually stood while his 
army besieged Freiburg. A German officer hav- 
ing sent a ball to this chapel which struck the 
wall just above the king's head, the latter sent 
word that if they did not cease firing he would 
point his cannons at the Minster. The citizens 
thought it best to spare the monarch and save 
the cathedral. 

We attended a meeting of the Walhalla,, or so- 
ciety of the students who visit the Freiburg Uni- 
versity. They pleased me better than the en- 
thusiastic but somewhat unrestrained Burschen- 
schaft of Heidelberg. Here, they have abolished 
duelling; the greatest friendship prevails among 
the students, and they have not that contempt 
for every thing philister, or unconnected with 
their studies, which prevails in other univer- 
sities. Many respectable citizens attend their 
meetings; to-night there was a member of the 
Chamber of Deputies at Carlsruhe present, who 
delivered two speeches, in which every third 
word was "freedom!" An address was dehV- 



264 VIEWS A-FOOT. 

ered also by a merchant of the city, in which he 
made a play upon the word spear, which signi- 
fies also in a cant sense, citizen, and seemed to 
indicate that both would do their work in the 
good cause. He was loudly applauded. Their 
song of union was by Charles Follen, and the 
students were much pleased when I told them 
how he was honored and esteemed in America. 

After two days, delightfully spent, we shoul- 
dered our knapsacks and left Freiburg. The beau- 
tiful valley, at the mouth of which the city lies, 
runs like an avenue for seven miles directly 
into the mountains, and presents in its loveli- 
ness such a contrast to the horrid defile which 
follows, that it almost deserves the name which 
has been given to a little inn at its head — the 
"Kingdom of Heaven." The mountains of the 
Black Forest enclose it on each side like walls, 
covered to the summit with luxuriant woods, 
and in some places with those forests of gloomy 
pine which give this region its name. After 
traversing its whole length, just before plunging 
into the mountain-depths, the traveller rarely 
meets with a finer picture than that which, on 
looking back, he sees framed between the hills at 
the other end. Freiburg looks around the foot 
of one of the heights, with the spire of her cathe- 
dral peeping above the top, while the French 
Vosges grew dim in the far perspective. 

The road now enters a wild, narrow valley, 
which grows smaller as we proceed. From 
Himmelriech, a large rude inn by the side of 
green meadows, we enter the Hollenthal — that 
is, from the "Kingdom of Heaven" to the "Val- 
ley of Hell!" The latter place better deserves 
its appellation than the former. The road 
winds between precipices of black rock, above 
which the thick foliage shuts out the brightness 
of day and gives a sombre hue to the scene. A 
torrent foams down the chasm, and in one 
place two mighty pillars interpose to prevent 



MOUNT FELDBERG. 26S 

all passage. The stream, however, has worn its 
way through, and the road is hewn in the rock 
by its side. This cleft is the only entrance to 
a valley three or four miles long, which lies in 
the very heart of the mountains. It is inhab- 
ited by a few woodmen and their families, and 
but for the road which passes through, would 
be as perfect a solitude as the Happy Valley of 
Basselas. At the farther end, a winding road 
called " The Ascent," leads up the steep mount- 
ain to an elevated region of country, thinly set- 
tled and covered with herds of cattle. The 
cherries which, in the Ehine-plain below, had 
long gone, were just ripe here. The people spoke 
a most barbarous dialect; they were social and 
friendly, for everybody greeted us, and some- 
times, as we sat on a bank by the roadside, 
those who passed by would say "Rest thee!" or 
"Thrice rest!" 

Passing by the Titi Lake, a small body of 
water which was spread out among the hills like 
a sheet of ink, so deep was its Stygian hue, we 
commenced ascending a mountain. The highest 
peak of the Schwarzwald, the Feldberg, rose not 
far off, and on arriving at the top of this mount- 
ain, we saw that a half hour's walk would bring 
us to its summit. This was too great a temp- 
tation for my love of climbing heights ; so with 
a look art the descending sun to calculate how 
much time we could spare, we set out. There 
was no path, but we pressed directly up the 
steep side, through bushes and long grass, and 
in a short time reached the top, breathless from 
such exertion in the thin atmosphere. The pine 
woods shut out the view to the north and east, 
which is said to be magnificent, as the mountain 
is about five thousand feet high. The wild, 
black peaks of the Black Forest were spread be- 
low us, and the sun sank through golden mist 
towards the Alsatian hills. Afar to the south, 
through qjoud and storm, we could just trace 



260 VIEWS A-FOOT. 

the white outline of the Swiss Alps. The wind 
swept through the pines around, and bent the 
long yellow grass among which we sat, with a 
strange, mournful sound, well suiting the 
gloomy and mysterious region. It soon grew 
cold, the golden clouds settled down towards 
us, and we made haste to descend to the village 
of Lenzkirch before dark. 

Next morning we set out early, without wait- 
ing to see the trial of archery which was to take 
place among the mountain youths. Their 
booths and targets, gay with banners, stood on 
a green meadow beside the town. We walked 
through the Black Forest the whole forenoon. 
It might be owing to the many wild stories 
whose scenes are laid among these hills, but with 
me there was a peculiar feeling of solemnity per- 
vading the whole region. The great pine woods 
are of the very darkest hue of green, and down 
their hoary, moss-floored aisles, daylight seems 
never to have shone. The air was pure and 
clear, and the sunshine bright, but it imparted 
no gaiety to the scenery : except the little mead- 
ows of living emerald which lay occasionally in 
the lap of a dell, the landscape wore a solemn 
and serious air. In a storm, it must be sublime. 

About noon, from the top of the last range of 
hills, we had a glorious view. The line of the 
distant Alps could be faintly traced high in the 
clouds, and all the heights between were plainly 
visible, from the Lake of Constance to the misty 
Jura, which flanked the Vosges of the west. 
From our lofty station we overlooked half 
Switzerland, and had the air been a little clearer, 
we could have seen Mont Blanc and the mount- 
ains of Savoy. I could not help envying the 
feelings of the Swiss, who, after long absence 
from their native land, first see the Alps from 
this road. If to the emotions with which I then 
looked on them were added the passionate love 
of home and country which a long absence ere- 



SCHA FFHA USEN. 267 

ates, such excess of rapture would be almost too 
great to be borne. 

In the afternoon we crossed the border, and 
took leave of Germany with regret, after near a 
year's residence within its bounds. Still it was 
pleasant to know we were in a republic once 
more : the first step we took made us aware of 
the change. There was no policeman to call for 
our passports or search our baggage. It was 
just dark when we reached the hill overlooking 
the Rhine, on whose steep banks is perched the 
antique town of Schaffhausen. It is still walled 
in, with towers at regular intervals ; the streets 
are wide and spacious, and the houses rendered 
extremely picturesque by the quaint projecting 
windows. The buildings are nearly all old, as we 
learned by the dates above the doors. At the 
inn, I met with one of the free troopers who 
marched against Luzerne. He was full of spirit, 
and ready to undertake another such journey. 
Indeed it is the universal opinion that the pres- 
ent condition of tilings cannot last much longer. 

We took a walk before breakfast to the Falls 
of the Rhine, about a mile and a half from 
►Schaffhausen. I confess I was somewhat disap- 
pointed in them, after the glowing descriptions 
of travellers. The river at this place is little 
more than thirty yards wide, and the body of 
water, although issuing from the Lake of Con- 
stance, is not remarkably strong. For some 
distance above, the fall of the water is very rapid, 
and as it finally reaches the spot where, nar- 
rowed between rocks, it makes the grand plunge, 
it has acquired a great velocity. Three rocks 
stand in the middle of the current, which thun- 
ders against and around their bases, but cannot 
shake them down. These and the rocks in the 
bed of the stream, break the force of the fall, so 
that it descends to the bottom, about fifty feet 
below, not in one sheet, but shivered into a hun- 
dred leaps of snowy foam. The precipitous 



268 VIEWS A-FOOT. 

shores, and the tasteful little castle which is 
perched upon the steep just over the boiling- 
spray, add much to its beauty, taken as a pict- 
ure. As a specimen of the picturesque, the whole 
scene is perfect. I should think Trenton Falls, 
in New York, must excel these in wild, startling 
effect ; but there is such a scarcity of waterfalls 
in this land, that the Germans go into raptures 
about them, and will hardly believe that Ni- 
agara itself possesses more sublimity. 



CHAPTER XXIX. 

PEOPLE AND PLACES IN EASTERN SWITZERLAND. 

We left Schaff hausen for Zurich, in mist and 
rain, and walked for some time along- the north 
bank of the Rhine. We could have enjoyed the 
scenery much better, had it not been for the 
rain, which not only hid the mountains from 
sight, but kept us constantly half soaked. We 
crossed the rapid Rhine at Eglisau, a curious 
antique village, and then continued our way 
through the forests of Canon Zurich, to Bulach, 
with its groves and lindens — "those tall and 
stately trees, with velvet down upon their shin- 
ing leaves, and rustic benches placed beneath 
their overhanging eaves." 

When we left the little village where the rain 
obliged us to stop for the night, it was clear and 
delightful. The farmers were out busy at work, 
their long, straight scythes glancing through 
the wet grass, while the thick pines sparkled 
with thousands of dewy diamonds. The coun- 
try Avas so beautiful and cheerful, that we half 
felt like being in America. The farm-houses were 



SWITZERLAND. 260 

scattered over the country in real American 
style, and the glorious valley of the Limmat, 
bordered on the west by a range of woody hills, 
reminded me of some scenes in my native Penn- 
sylvania. The houses were neatly and tastefully 
built, with little gardens around them — and the 
countenances of the people spoke of intelligence 
and independence. There was the same air of 
peace and prosperity which delighted us in the 
valleys of upper Austria, with a look of freedom 
which those had not. The faces of a people are 
the best index to their condition. I could read 
on their brows a lofty self-respect, a conscious- 
ness of the liberties they enjoy, which the Ger- 
mans of the laboring class never show. It could 
not be imagination, for the recent occurrences in 
Switzerland, with the many statements I heard 
in Germany, had prejudiced me somewhat against 
the land ; and these marks of prosperity and free- 
dom were as surprising as they were delightful. 

As we approached Zurich, the noise of employ- 
ment from mills, furnaces and factories, came to 
us like familiar sounds, reminding us of the bus- 
tle of our home cities. The situation of the city 
is lovely. It lies at the head of the lake, and on 
both sides of the little river Limmat, whose 
clear green waters carry the collected meltings 
of the Alps to the Ehine. Around the lake rise 
lofty green hills, which, sloping gently back, 
bear on their sides hundreds of pleasant country 
houses and farms, and the snowy Alpine range 
extends along the southern sky. The Limmat 
is spanned by a number of bridges, and its swift 
waters turn many mills which a,re built above 
them. From these bridges one can look out 
over the blue lake and down the thronged streets 
of the city on each side, whose bright, cheerful 
houses remind him of Italy. 

Zurich can boast of finer promenades than any 
other city in Switzerland. The old battlements 
are planted with trees and transformed into 



370 VIEWS A- FOOT. 

pleasant walks, which being elevated above the 
city, command views of its beautiful environs. 
A favorite place of resort is the Lindenhof, an 
elevated court-yard, shaded by immense trees. 
The fountains of water under them are always 
surrounded by washerwomen, and in the morn- 
ing groups of merry school children may be seen 
tumbling over the grass. The teachers take 
them there in a body for exercise and recreation. 
The Swiss cliildren are beautiful, bright-eyed 
creatures ; there is scarcely one who does not ex- 
hibit the dawning of an active, energetic spirit, 
It may be partly attributed to the fresh, healthy 
climate of Switzerland, but I am partial enough 
to republics to believe that the influence of the 
Government under which they live, has also its 
share in producing the effect. 

There is a handsome promenade on an elevated 
bastion which overlooks the city and lakes. 
While enjoying the cool morning breeze and lis- 
tening to the stir of the streets below us, we were 
also made aware of the social and friendly po- 
liteness of the people. Those who passed by, on 
their walk around the rampart, greeted us, al- 
most with the familiarity of an acquaintance. 
Simple as was the act, we felt grateful, for it had 
at least the seeming of a friendly interest and a 
sympathy with the loneliness which the stranger 
sometimes feels. A school-teacher leading her 
troop of merry children on their morning walk 
around the bastion, nodded to us pleasantly and 
forthwith the whole company of chubby-cheeked 
rogues, looking up at us with a pleasant arch- 
ness, lisped a "guten morgen" that made the 
hearts glad within us. I know of nothing that 
has given me a more sweet and tender delight 
than the greeting of a little child, who, leaving 
his noisy playmates, ran across the street to me, 
and taking my hand, which he could barely clasp 
in both his soft little ones, looked up in my face 
with an expression so winning and affectionate, 



THE ALP-GLOW. 271 

that I loved him at once. The happy, honest 
farmers, too, spoke to us cheerfully everywhere. 
We learned a lesson from all this — we felt that 
not a word of kindness is ever wasted, that a 
simple friendly glance may cheer the spirit and 
warm the lonely heart, and that the slightest 
deed, prompted by generous sympathy, becomes 
a living joy in the memory of the receiver, which 
blesses unceasingly him who bestowed it. 

We left Zurich the same afternoon, to walk to 
Stafa, where we were told the poet Freiligrath 
resided. The road led along the bank of the 
lake, whose shores sloped gently up from the 
water, covered with gardens and farm-houses, 
which, with the bolder mountains that rose be- 
hind them, made a combination of the lovely 
and grand, on which the eye rested with rapture 
and delight. The sweetest cottages were em- 
bowered among the orchards, and the whole 
country bloomed like a garden. The waters of 
the lake are of a pale, transparent green, and so 
clear that we could see its bottom of white peb- 
bles, for some distance. Here and there floated 
a quiet boat on its surface. The opposite hills 
were covered with a soft blue haze, and white 
villages sat along the shore, "like swans among 
the reeds." Behind, we saw the woody range of 
the Brunig Alp. The people bade us a pleasant 
good evening; there was a universal air of cheer- 
fulness and content on their countenances. 

Towards evening, the clouds which hung in the 
south the whole day, dispersed a little and we 
could see the Dodiberg and the Alps of Glarus. 
As sunset drew on, the broad summits of snow 
and the clouds which were rolled around them, 
assumed a soft rosy hue, which increased in bril- 
liancy as the light of day faded. The rough, icy 
crags and snowy steeps were fused in the warm 
light and half blended with the bright clouds. 
This blaze, as it were, of the mountains at sun- 
set, is called the Alp-glow, and exceeds all one's 



272 VIEWS A-FOOT. 

highest conceptions of Alpine grandeur. We 
watched the fading glory till it quite died away, 
and the summits wore a livid, ashy hue, like the 
mountains of a world wherein there was no life. 
In a few minutes more the dusk of twilight 
spread over the scene, the boatmen glided home 
over the still lake and the herdsmen drove their 
cattle back from pasture on the slopes and 
meadows. 

On inquiring for Freihgrath at Stafa, we found 
he had removed to Rapperschwyl, some distance 
further. As it was already late, we waited for 
the steamboat which leaves Zurich every evening. 
It came along about eight o'clock, and a little 
boat carried us out through rain and darkness 
to meet it, as it came like a fiery-eyed monster 
over the water. We stepped on board the "Re- 
publican," and in half an hour were brought to 
the wharf at Rapperschwyl. 

There are two small islands in the lake, one of 
which, with a little chapel rising from among 
the trees, is Ufnau, the grave of Ulrich von 
Hutten, one of the fathers of the German Ref- 
ormation. His fiery poems have been the 
source from which many a German bard has 
derived his inspiration, and Freiligrath who 
now lives in sight of his tomb, has published 
an indignant poem, because an inn with gaming- 
tables has been established in the ruins of the 
castle near Creuznach, where Hutten found 
refuge from his enemies with Franz von Sickin- 
gen, brother-in-law of "Goetz with the Iron 
Hand." The monks of Einsiedeln, to whom 
Ufnau belongs, have carefully obliterated all 
traces of his grave, so that the exact spot is not 
known, in order that even a tombstone might be 
denied him who once strove to overturn their 
order. It matters little to that bold spirit 
whose motto was: "The die is cast — / have 
dared it /" — the whole island is his monument if 
he need one. __... - 



THE POET FREILIGRA TH. 273 

I spent the whole of the morning with Freili- 
grath, the poet, who was lately banished from 
Germany on account of the liberal principles his 
last volume contains. He lives in a pleasant 
country-house on the Meyerberg, an eminence 
near Eapperschwyl overlooking a glorious pros- 
pect. On leaving Frankfort, K. S. Willis gave me 
a letter to him, and I was glad to meet with a 
man personally whom I admired so much through 
his writings, and whose boldness in speaking out 
against the tyranny which his country suffers, 
forms such a noble contrast to the cautious 
slowness of his countrymen. He received me 
kindly and conversed much upon American lit- 
erature. He is a warm admirer of Bryant and 
Longfellow, and has translated many of their 
poems into German. He said he had received a 
warm invitation from a colony of Germans in 
Wisconsin, to join them and enjoy that freedom 
which his native land denies, but that his cir- 
cumstances would not allow it at present. He 
is perhaps thirty-five years of age. His brow is 
high and noble, and his eyes, which are large and 
of a clear gray, beam with serious, saddened 
thought. His long chestnut hair, uniting with a 
handsome beard and moustache, gives a lion- 
like dignity to his energetic countenance. His 
talented wife, Ida Freiligrath, who shares his lit- 
erary labors, and an amiable sister, are with him 
in exile, and he is happier in their faithfulness 
than when he enjoyed the favors of a corrupt 
king. 

We crossed the long bridge from Eapper- 
schwyl, and took the road over the mountain 
opposite, ascending for nearly two hours along 
the side, with glorious views of the Lake of Zu- 
rich and the mountains which enclose it. The 
upper and lower ends of the lake were com- 
pletely hid by the storms, which to our regret, 
veiled the Alps, but the part below lay spread 
out dim and grand, like a vast picture. It 



27 i VIEWS A-FOOT. 

rained almost constantly, and we were obliged 
occasionally to take shelter in the pine forests, 
whenever a heavier cloud passed over. The road 
was lined with beggars, who dropped on their 
knees in the rain before ns, or placed bars across 
the way, and then took them down again, for 
which they demanded money. 

At length we reached the top of the pass. 
Many pilgrims to Einsiedeln had stopped at a 
little inn there, some of whom came a long dis- 
tance to pay their vows, especially as the next 
day was the Ascension day of the Virgin, whose 
image there is noted for performing many mira- 
cles. Passing on, we crossed a wild torrent by 
an arch called the " Devil's Bridge." The lofty, 
elevated plains were covered with scanty patches 
of grain and potatoes, and the boys tended 
their goats on the grassy slopes, sometimes 
trilling or yodling an Alpine melody. An hour's 
walk brought us to Einsiedeln, a small town, 
whose only attraction is the Abbey— after Lo- 
retto, in Italy, the most celebrated resort for 
pilgrims in Europe. 

We entered immediately into the great church. 
The gorgeous vaulted roof and long aisles were 
dim with the early evening; hundreds of wor- 
shippers sat around the sides, or kneeled in 
groups on the broad stone pavements, chanting 
over their Paternosters and Ave Marias in a 
shrill, monotonous tone, while the holy image 
near the entrance was surrounded by persons, 
many of whom came in the hope of being healed 
of some disorder under which they suffered. I 
could not distinctly make out the image, for it 
was placed back within the grating, and a strong 
crimson lamp behind it was made to throw the 
light around, in the form of a glory. Many of 
the pilgrims came a long distance. I saw some 
in the costume of the Black Forest, and others 
who appeared to be natives of the Italian Can- 
tons; and a group of young women wearing 



ALPINE SCENERY. 275 

conical fur caps, from the forests of Bregenz, on 
the Lake of Constance. 

I was astonished at the splendor of this church, 
situated in a lonely and unproductive Alpine 
valley. The lofty arches of the ceiling, which 
are covered with superb fresco paintings, rest on 
enormous pillars of granite, and every image 
and shrine is richly ornamented with gold. 
Some of the chapels were filled with the remains 
of martyrs, and these were always surrounded 
with throngs of believers. The choir was closed 
by a tall iron grating ; a single lamp, which 
swung from the roof, enabled me to see through 
the darkness, that though much more rich in or- 
naments than the body of the church, it was 
less grand and impressive. The frescoes which 
cover the ceiling, are said to be the finest paint- 
ings of the kind in Switzerland. 

In the morning our starting was delayed by 
the rain, and we took advantage of it to hear 
mass in the Abbey and enjoy the heavenly music. 
The latter was of the loftiest kind; there was 
one voice among the singers I shall not soon 
forget. It was like the warble of a bird who 
sings out of very wantonness. On and on it 
sounded, making its clear, radiant sweetness 
heard above the chant of the choir and the 
thunder of the orchestra. Such a rich, varied 
and untiring strain of melody I have rarely lis- 
tened to. 

When the service ceased, we took a small road 
leading to Schwytz. We had now fairly entered 
the Alpine region, and our first task was to 
cross a mountain. This having been done, we 
kept along the back of the ridge which bounds 
the lake of Zug on the south, terminating in the 
well known Rossberg. The scenery became 
wilder with every step. The luxuriant fields of 
herbage on the mountains were spotted with the 
picturesque chalets of the hunters and Alp- 
herds; cattle and goats were browsing along the 



276 VIEWS A-FOOT. 

declivities, their bells tinkling most musically, 
and the little streams fell in foam down the 
steeps. We here began to realize our anticipa- 
tions of Swiss scenery. Just on the other side 
of the range, along which we travelled, lay the 
little lake of Egeri and valley of Morgarten, 
where Tell and his followers overcame the army 
of the German Emperor; near the lake of Lo- 
wertz, we found a chapel by the roadside, built 
on the spot where the house of Werner Stauff- 
acher, one of the "three men of Grutli," for- 
merly stood. It bears a poetical inscription in 
old German, and a rude painting of the Battle 
of Morgarten. 

As we wound around the lake of Lowertz, we 
saw the valley lying between the Rossberg and 
the Righi, which latter mountain stood rail in 
view. To our regret, and that of all other trav- 
ellers, the clouds nung low upon it, as they had 
done for a week at least, and there was no pros- 
pect of a change. The Rossberg, from which we 
descended, is about four thousand feet in height; 
a dark brown stripe from its very summit to the 
valley below, shows the track of the avalanche 
which, in 1806, overwhelmed Goldau, and laid 
waste the beautiful vale of Lowertz. We could 
trace the masses of rock and earth as far as the 
foot of the Righi. Four hundred and fifty per- 
sons perished by this catastrophe, which was so 
sudden that in five minutes the whole lovely 
valley was transformed into a desolate wilder- 
ness. The shock was so great that the lake of 
Lowertz overflowed its banks, and part of the 
village of Steinenat the upper end was destroyed 
by the waters. 

An hour's walk through a blooming Alpine 
vale brought us to the little town of Schwytz, 
the capital of the Canton. It stands at the foot 
of a rock-mountain, in shape not unlike Gibral- 
tar, but double its height. The bare and rugged 
summits seem to hang directly over the town, 



THE MEADOW OF GRUTLL 277 

but the people dwell below without fear, al- 
though the warning ruins of Goldau are full in 
sight. A narrow blue line at the end of the 
valley which stretches westward, marks the lake 
of the Four Cantons. Down this valley we hur- 
ried, that we might not miss the boat which 
plies daily, from Luzerne to Fluelen. I regretted 
not being able to visit Luzerne, as I had a letter 
to the distinguished Swiss composer, Schnyder 
von Wartensee, who resides there at present. 
The place is said to present a most desolate ap- 
pearance, being avoided by travellers, and even 
by artisans, so that business of all kinds has al- 
most entirely ceased. 

At the little town of Brunnen, on the lake, we 
awaited the coming of the steamboat. The 
scenery around it is exceedingly grand. Look- 
ing down towards Luzerne, we could see the dark 
mass of Mount Pilatus on one side, and on the 
other the graceful outline of the Kighi, still 
wearing his hood of clouds. We put off in a 
skiff to meet the boat, with two Capuchin friars 
in long brown mantles and cowls, carrying- 
rosaries at their girdles. 

Nearly opposite Brunnen is the meadow of 
Grutli, where the union of the Swiss patriots 
took place, and the bond was sealed that enabled 
them to cast off their chains. It is a little green 
slope on the side of the mountain, between the 
two Cantons of Uri and Unterwalden, sur- 
rounded on all sides by precipices. A little crys- 
tal spring in the centre is believed by the com- 
mon people to have gushed up on the spot where 
the three" linked the hands that made them 
free. " It is also a popular belief that they slum- 
ber in a rocky cavern near the spot, and that 
they will arise and come forth when the liberties 
of Switzerland are in danger. She stands at 
present greatly in need of a new triad to restore 
the ancient harmony. 

We passed this glorious scene, almost the only 



278 VIEWS A-FOOT. 

green spot on the bleak mountain-side, and 
swept around the base of the Axenberg, at 
whose foot, in a rocky cave, stands the chapel 
of William Tell. This is built on the spot where 
he leaped from Gessler's boat during the storm. 
It sits at the base of the rock, on the water's 
edge, and can be seen far over the waves. The 
Alps, whose eternal snows are lifted dazzling to 
the sky, complete the grandeur of scene so hal- 
lowed by the footsteps of freedom. The grand 
and lonely solemnity of the landscape impressed 
me with an awe, like that one feels when stand- 
ing in a mighty cathedral, when the aisles are 
dim with twilight. And how full of interest to a 
citizen of young and free America is a shrine 
where the votaries of Liberty have turned to 
gather strength and courage, through the 
storms and convulsions of five hundred years ! 

We stopped at the village of Fluelen, at the 
head of the lake, and walked on to Altorf, a dis- 
tance of half a league. Here, in the market^ 
place, is a tower said to be built on the spot 
where the linden tree stood, under which the 
child of Tell was placed, while, about a hundred 
yards distant, is a fountain with Tell's statue, 
on the spot from whence he shot the apple. If 
these localities are correct, he must indeed have 
been master of the cross-bow. The tower is cov- 
ered with rude paintings of the principal events 
in the history of Swiss liberty. I viewed these 
scenes with double interest from having read 
Schiller's " Wilhelm Tell," one of the most splen- 
did tragedies ever written. The beautiful reply 
of his boy, when he described to him the condi- 
tion of the "land where there are no mount- 
ains," was sounding in my ears during the 
whole day's journey : 

" Father, I'd feel oppressed in that broad land, 
I'd rather dwell beneath the avalanche! " 

The little village of Burglen, Avhose spire we 



THE FOOTSTEPS OF TELL. 279 

saw above the forest, in a glen near by, was the 
birth-place of Tell, and the place where his 
dwelling stood, is now marked by a small 
chapel. In the Schachen, a noisy mountain 
stream that comes down to join the Keuss, he 
was drowned, when an old man, in attempting 
to rescue a child who had fallen in — a death 
worthy of the hero! We bestowed a blessing 
on his memory in passing, and then followed 
the banks of the rapid Reuss. Twilight was 
gathering in the deep Alpine glen, and the 
mountains on each side, half seen through the 
mist, looked like vast, awful phantoms. Soon 
they darkened to black, indistinct masses; all 
was silent except the deepened roar of the falling- 
floods; dark clouds brooded above us like the 
outspread wings of night, and we were glad, 
when the little village of Amstegg was reached, 
and the parlor of the inn opened to us a more 
cheerful, if not so romantic scene. 



CHAPTEE XXX. 

PASSAGE OF THE ST. GOTHARD AND DESCENT 
INTO ITALY. 

Leaving Amstegg, I passed the whole day 
among snowy, sky-piercing Alps, torrents, 
chasms and clouds ! The clouds appeared to be 
breaking up as we set out, and the white top of 
the Reussberg was now and then visible in the 
sky. Just above the village are the remains of 
Zwing Uri, the castle begun by the tyrant 
Gessler, for the complete subjugation of the 
canton. Following the Reuss up through a nar- 
row valley, we passed the Bristenstock, which 
lifts its jagged crags nine thousand feet in the 



280 VIEWS A-P60T. 

air, while on the other side stand the snowy 
summits which lean towards the Rhone Glacier 
and St. Gothard. From the deep glen where the 
Reuss foamed down towards the Lake of the 
Forest Cantons, the mountains rose with a 
majestic sweep so far into the sky that the brain 
grew almost dizzy in following their outlines. 
Woods, chalets and slopes of herbage cov- 
ered their bases, where the mountain cattle 
and goats were browsing, while the herd-boj^s 
sang their native melodies or woke the ringing 
echoes with the loud, SAveet sounds of their 
wooden horns ; higher up, the sides were broken 
into crags and covered with stunted pines ; then 
succeeded a belt of bare rock with a little snow 
lying in the crevices, and the summits of daz- 
zling white looked out from the clouds nearly 
three-fourths the height of the zenith. Some- 
times when the vale was filled with clouds it was 
startling to see them parting around a solitary 
summit, apparently isolated in the air at an im- 
mense height, for the mountain to which it be- 
longed was hidden to the very base ! 

The road passed from one side of the valley to 
the other, crossing the Reuss on bridges some- 
times ninety feet high. After three or four 
hours' walking, we reached a frightful pass 
called the Schollenen. So narrow is the defile 
that before reaching it, the road seemed to enter 
directly into the mountain. Precipices a thou- 
sand feet high tower above, and the stream 
roars and boils in the black depths below. The 
road is a wonder of art; it winds around the 
edge of horrible chasms or is carried on lofty 
arches across, with sometimes a hold apparently 
so frail that one involuntarily shudders. At a 
place called the Devil's Bridge, the Reuss leaps 
about seventy feet in three or four cascades, 
sending up continually a cloud of spray, while a 
wind created by the fall, blows and whirls 
around, with a force that nearly lifts one from 



ST. GOTHARD. 281 

his feet. Wordsworth has described the scene in 
the following lines : 

" Plunge with the Reuss embowered by terror's breath, 
Where danger roofs the narrow walks of Death; 
By floods that, thundering from their dizzy height, 
Swell more gigantic on the steadfast sight, 
Black, drizzling crags, that, beaten by the din, 
Vibrate, as if a voice complained within, 
Loose hanging rocks, the Day's blessed eye that hide, 
And crosses reared to Death on every side !" 

Beyond the Devil's Bridge, the mountains 
which nearly touched before, interlock into each 
other, and a tunnel three hundred and sevent}'- 
five feet long leads through the rock into the 
vale of Urseren, surrounded by the Upper Alps. 
The little town of Andermatt lies in the middle 
of this valley, which with the peaks around is 
covered with short, yellowish-brown grass. We 
met near Amstegg a little Italian boy walking 
home, from Germany, quite alone and without 
money, for we saw him give his last kreutzer to 
a blind beggar along the road. We therefore 
took him with us, as he was afraid to cross the 
St. Gothard alone. 

After refreshing ourselves at Andermatt, we 
started, five in number, including a German 
student, for the St. Gothard. Behind the village 
of Hospiz, which stands at the bottom of the 
valley leading to Kealp and the Furca pass, the 
way commences, winding backwards and for- 
wards, higher and higher, through a valley cov- 
ered with rocks, with the mighty summits of the 
Alps around, untenanted save by the chamois 
and mountain eagle. Not a tree was to be seen . 
The sides of the mountains were covered with 
loose rocks waiting for the next torrent to wash 
them down, and the tops were robed in eternal 
snow. A thick cloud rolled down over us as we 
went on, following the diminishing brooks to 
their snowy source in the peak of St. Gothard. 
We cut off the bends of the road by footpaths 



282 VIEWS A -FOOT. 

up the rocks, which we ascended in single file, 
one of the Americans going- ahead and little 
Pietro with his staff and bundle bringing up the 
rear. The rarefied air we breathed, seven thou- 
sand feet above the sea, was like exhilarating 
gas. We felt no fatigue, but ran and shouted 
and threw snowballs, in the middle of August! 

After three hours' walk we reached the two 
clear and silent lakes which send their waters to 
the Adriatic and the North Sea. Here, as we 
looked down the Italian side, the sky became 
clear; we saw the top of St. Gothard many 
thousand feet above, and stretching to the 
youth the summits of the mountains which 
guard the vales of the Tiemo and the Adda. 
The former monastery has been turned into an 
inn ; there is, however, a kind of church attached, 
attended by a single monk. It was so cold that 
although late, Ave determined to descend to the 
first village. The Italian side is very steep, and 
the road, called the Via Trimola,is like a thread 
dropped down and constantly doubling back 
upon itself. The deep chasms were filled with 
snow, although exposed to the full force of the 
sun, and for a long distance there was scarcely 
a sign of vegetation. 

AVe thought as we went down, that every step 
was bringing us nearer to a sunnier land— that 
the glories of Italy, which had so long lain in 
the airy background of the future, would soon 
spread themselves before us in their real or im- 
agined beauty. Reaching at dusk the last 
height above the vale of the Ticino, we saw the 
little village of Airolo with its musical name, 
lying in a hollow of the mountains. A few min- 
utes of leaping, sliding and rolling, took us 
down the grassy declivity, and we found we had 
descended from the top in an hour and a half, 
although the distance by the road is nine miles ! 
I need not say how glad we were to relieve our 
trembling knees and exhausted limbs.. 



SONG OF THE ALP. 283 

I have endeavored several times to give some 
idea of the sublimity of the Alps, but words 
seem almost powerless to measure these mighty 
muuntains. No effort of the imagination could 
possibly equal their real grandeur. I wish also 
to describe the feelings inspired by being among 
them, — feelings which can best be expressed 
through the warmer medium of poetry. 

SONG OF THE ALP. 



I sit aloft on my thunder throne, 

And my voice of dread the nations own 

As I speak in storm below ! 
The. valleys quake with a breathless fear, 
When I hurl in wrath my icy spear 

And shake my locks of snow! 
When the avalanche forth like a tiger leaps, 

How the vassal-mountains quiver! 
And the storm that sweeps through the airy deeps 

Makes the hoary pine-wood shiver! 
Above them all, in a brighter air, 
I lift my forehead proud and bare, 
And the lengthened sweep of my forest-robe 
Trails down to the low and captured globe, 
Till its borders touch the dark green wave 
In whose soundless depths my feet I lave. 
The winds, unprisoned, around me blow, 
And terrible tempests whirl the snow; 
Rocks from their caverned beds are torn, 
And the blasted forest to heaven is borne; 
High through the din of the stormy band, 
Like misty giants the mountains stand, 
And their thunder-revel o'er sounds the woe, 
That cries from the desolate vales below ! 
I part the clouds with my lifted crown, 
Till the sun-ray slants on the glaciers down, 
And trembling men, in the valleys pale, 
Rejoice at the gleam of my icy mail! , 

I wear a crown of the sunbeam's gold, 
With glacier-gems on my forehead old— • 

A monarch crowned by God! 
What son of the servile earth may dare 



284 VIEWS A -FOOT. 

Such signs of a regal power to wear, 

While chained to her darkened sod? 
I know of a nobler and grander lore 

Than Time records on his crumbling page*, 
And the soul of my solitude teaches more 

Than the gathered deeds of perished ages! 
For I have ruled since Time began 
And wear no fetter made by man. 
I scorn the coward and craven race 
Who dwell around my mighty base, 
For they leave the lessons I grandly gave 
And bend to the yoke of the crouching slave. 
I shout aloud to the chainless skies; 
The stream through its falling foam replies, 
And my voice like the sound of the surging sea, 
To the nations thunders: "I am free!" 
I spoke to Tell when a tyrant's hand 
Lay heavy and hard on his native land, 
And the spirit whose glory from mine he won 
Blessed the Alpine dwellers with Freedom's sun! 
The student-boy on the Gmunden-plain 
Heard my solemn voice, but he fought in vain; 
I called from the crags of the Passeir-glen, 
When the despot stood in my realm again, 
And Hofer sprang at the proud command 
And roused the men of the Tyrol land! 

Hi. 

I struggle up to the dim blue heaven, 

From the world, far down in whose breasts are driven 

The props of my pillared throne; 
And the rosy fires of morning glow 
Like a glorious thought, on my brow of snow, 

While the vales are dark and lone! 
Ere twilight summons the first faint star, 
I seem to the nations who dwell afar 
Like a shadow cloud, whose every fold 
The sunset dyes with its purest gold, 
And the soul mounts up through that gateway fair 
To try its wings in a loftier air! 
The finger of God on my brow is pressed — 
His spirit beats in my giant breast, 
And I breathe, as the endless ages roll, 
His silent words to the eager soul! 
I prompt the thoughts of the mighty mind, 
Who leaves his century far behind 
And speaks from the Future's sun-lit snow 
To the Present, that sleeps in its gloom below! 
I stand, unchanged, in creation's youth — 
A glorious type of Eternal Truth, 



DESCENT OF THE TICINO. 285 

That, free and pure, from its native skies 
Shines through Oppression's veil of lies, 
And lights the world's long-fettered sod 
With thoughts of Freedom and of God I 

When, at night, I looked out of my chamber- 
window, the silver moon of Italy, (for we fancied 
that her light was softer and that the sides 
were already bluer) hung trembling above the 
fields of snow that stretched in their wintry bril- 
liance along the mountains around. I heard 
the roar of the Ticino and the deepened sound 
of falling cascades, and thought, if I were to 
take those waters for my guide, to what glori- 
ous places they would lead me ! 

We left Airolo early the next morning, to con- 
tinue our journey down the valley of the Ticino. 
The mists and clouds of Switzerland were ex- 
changed for a sky of the purest blue, and we felt, 
for the first time in ten days, uncomfortably 
warm. The mountains which flank the Alps on 
this side, are still giants — lofty and bare, and 
covered with snow in many places. The limit of 
the German dialect is on the summit of St. 
Gothard, and the peasants saluted us with a 
" buon giomo" as they passed. This, with the 
clearness of the skies and the warmth of the air, 
made us feel that Italy was growing nearer. 

The mountains are covered with forests of 
dark pine, and many beautiful cascades come 
tumbling over the rocks in their haste to join 
the Ticino. One of these was so strangely beau- 
tiful, that I cannot pass it without a particular 
description. We saw it soon after leaving Airolo, 
on the opposite side of the valley. A stream of 
considerable size comes down the mountain, 
leaping from crag to crag till within forty or 
fifty feet of the bottom, where it is caught in a 
hollow rock, and flung upwards into the air, 
forming a beautiful arch as it falls out into the 
valley. As it is whirled up thus, feathery curls 
*;f spray are constantly driven off and seem to 



286 VIEWS A- FOOT. 

wave round it like the fibres on an ostrich plume. 
The sun shining through, gave it a sparry bril- 
liance which was perfectly magnificent. If I were 
an artist, I would give much for such a new form 
of beauty. 

On our first day's journey we passed through 
two terrific mountain gorges, almost equalling 
in grandeur the defile of the " Devil ? s Bridge. 
The Ticino, in its course to Lago Maggiore has 
to make a descent of nearly three thousand feet, 
passing through three valleys, which he like ter- 
races, one below the other. In its course from 
one to the other, it has to force its way down in 
twenty cataracts through a cleft in the mount- 
ains. The road, constructed with the utmost 
labor, threads these dark chasms, sometimes 
carried in a tunnel through the rock, sometimes 
passing on arches above the boiling flood. The 
precipices of bare rock rise far above and render 
the way difficult and dangerous. I here noticed 
another very beautiful effect of the water, per- 
haps attributable to some mineral substance it 
contained. The spray and foam thrown up in 
the dashing of the vexed current, Was of a light, 
delicate pink, although the stream itself was a 
soft blue ; and the contrast of these two colors 
was very remarkable. 

As we kept on, however, there was a very per- 
ceptible change in the scenery, The gloomy 
pines disappeared and the mountains were cov- 
ered in their stead, with picturesque chestnut 
trees, with leaves of a shining green. The grass 
and vegetation was much more luxuriant than 
on the other side of the Alps, and fields of maize 
and mulberry orchards covered the valley. We 
saw the people busy at work reeling silk in the 
villages. Every mile we advanced made a sensi- 
ble change in the vegetation. The chestnuts 
were larger, the maize higher, the few straggling 
grape-vines increased into bowers and vineyards;, 
while the gardens were filled with plum, pear and 



SWISS VINEYARDS. 287 

fig-trees, and the stands of delicious fruit which 
we saw in the villages, gave us promise of the 
luxuriance that was to come. The vineyards are 
much more beautiful than the German fields of 
stakes. The vines are not trimmed, but grow 
from year to year over a frame higher than the 
head, supported through the whole field on stone 
pillars. They interlace and form a complete 
leafy screen, while the clusters hang below. The 
light came dimly through the green, transparent 
leaves, and nothing was wanting to make them 
real bowers of Arcadia. Although we were still 
in Switzerland, the people began to have that 
lazy, indolent look which characterizes the Ital- 
ians ; most of the occupations were carried on 
in the open air, and brown-robed, sandalled 
friars were going about from house to house, 
collecting money and provisions for their sup- 
port. 

We passed Faido and Giornico, near which last 
village are the remains of an old castle, supposed 
to have been built by the ancient Gauls, and 
stopped for the night at Cresciano, which being 
entirely Italian, we had an opportunity to put 
in practice the few words we had picked up from 
Pietro. The little fellow parted from us with re- 
gret a few hours before, at Biasco, where he had 
relations. The rustic landlord at Cresciano was 
an honest young fellow, who tried to serve us as 
well as he could, but we made some ludicrous 
mistakes through our ignorance of the lan- 
guage. 

Three hours' walk brought us to Bellinzona, 
the capital of the canton. Before reaching it, 
our road joined that of the Spliigen which 
comes down through the valley of Bernardino. 
From the bridge where the junction takes place 
we had a triple view, whose grandeur took me 
by surprise, even after coming from Switzerland. 
We stood at the union of three valleys — that 
leading to St. Gothard, terminated by the 



288 VIEWS AFOOT. 

glaciers of the Bernese Oberland, that running 
off obliquely to the Spliigen, and finally the 
broad vale of the Ticino, extending to Lago 
Maggiore, whose purple mountains closed the 
vista. Each valley was perhaps two miles 
broad and from twenty to thirty long, and the 
mountains that enclosed them from five to 
seven thousand feet in height, so you may per- 
haps form some idea what a view down three 
such avenues in this Alpine temple would be. 
Bellinzona is romantically situated, on a slight 
eminence, with three castles to defend it, with 
those square turreted towers and battlements, 
which remind one involuntarily of the days of 
the Goths and Vandals. 

We left Bellinzona at noon, and saw, soon 
after, from an eminence, the blue line of Lago 
Maggiore stretched across the bottom of the 
valley. We saw sunset fade away over the lake, 
but it was clouded, and did not realize my ideal 
of such a scene in Italy. A band of wild Italians 
paraded up and down the village, drawing one 
of their number in a hand-cart. They made a 
great noise with a drum and trumpet, and were 
received everywhere with shouts of laughter. A 
great jug of Avine was not wanting, and the 
whole seemed to me a very characteristic scene. 

We were early awakened at Magadino, at the 
head of Lago Maggiore, and after swallowing a 
hasty breakfast, went on board the steamboat 
"San Carlo," for Sesto Calende. We got under 
way at six o'clock, and were soon in motion 
over the cystal mirror. The water is of the 
most lovely green hue, and so transparent that 
we seemed to be floating in mid-air. Another 
heaven arched far below us; other chains of 
mountains joined their bases to those which 
surrounded the lake, and the mirrored cascades 
leaped upward to meet their originals at the sur- 
face. It may be because I have seen it more re- 
cently, that the water of Lago Maggiore appears 



AN ITALIAN LAKE. 289 

to be the most beautiful in the world. I was de- 
lighted with the Scotch lakes, and enraptured 
with the Traunsee and "Zurich's waters," but 
this last exceeds them both. I am now incapable 
of a n j stronger feeling, until I see the Egean fro m 
the Grecian Isles. 

The morning was cloudy, and the white wreaths 
hung low on the mountains, whose rocky sides 
were covered every where with the rank and lux- 
uriant growth of this climate. As we advanced 
further over this glorious mirror, the houses be- 
came more Italian-like; the lower stories rested 
on arched passages, and the windows were open, 
without glass, while in the gardens stood the 
solemn, graceful cypress, and vines, heavy with 
ripening grapes, hung from bough to bough 
through the mulberry orchards . Half-way down , 
in a broad bay, which receives the waters of a 
stream that comes down with the Simplon, are 
the celebrated Borromean Islands. They are 
four in number, and seem to float like fairy crea- 
tions on the water, while the lofty hills form a 
background whose grandeur enhances by con- 
trast their exquisite beauty. There was some- 
thing in the scene that reminded me of Claude 
Melnotte's description of his home, by Bulwer, 
and like the lady of Lyons, I answer readily, " 1 
like the picture." 

On passing by Isola Madre, we could see the 
roses in its terraced gardens and the broad- 
leaved aloes clinging to the rocks. Isola Bella, 
the loveliest of them all, as its name denotes, was 
farther off; it rose like a pyramid from the water, 
terrace above terrace to the summit, and its 
gardens of never fading foliage, with the glori- 
ous panorama around, might make it a para^ 
dise, if life were to be dreamed away. On the 
northern side of the bay lies a large town (1 
forget the name,) with a lofty Romanesque 
tower, and noble mountains sweep around as it 
to shut out the world from such a scene. The 



ftlO VIEWS A- FOOT. 

sea was perfectly calm, ami groves and gardens 
slept mirrored in the dark green wave, while the 
Alps rose afar through the dim, cloudy air. 
Towards the other end the hills sink lower, and 
slope off into the plains of Lombardy. Near 
Arona, on the western side, is a large monastery, 
overlooking the lower part of the lake. Beside 
it, on a hill, is a colossal statue of San Carlo 
Borromeo, who gave his name to the lovely isl- 
ands above. 

After a seven hours' passage, we ran into Sesto 
Oalende, at the foot of the lake. Here passen- 
gers and baggage were tumbled promiscuously 
on shore, the latter gathered into the office 
to be examined, and the former left at liberty to 
ramble about an hour until their passports 
could be signed. We employed the time in try- 
ing the flavor of the grapes and peaches of 
Lombardy, and looking at the groups of travel- 
lers who had come down from the Alps with the 
annual avalanche at this season. The custom 
house officers were extremely civil and obliging, 
as they did not think necessary to examine our 
knapsacks, and our passports being soon signed, 
we were at liberty to enter again into the do- 
minions of His Majesty of Austria. Our com- 
panion, the German, whose feet could carry him 
no further, took a seat on the top of a diligence 
for Milan; we left Sesto Calende on foot, and 
plunged into the cloud of dust which was whirl- 
ing towards the capital of Northern Italy. 

Being now really in the " sunny land," we 
looked on the scenery with a deep interest. The 
first thing that struck me was a resemblance to 
America in the fields of Indian corn, and the rank 
growth of weeds by the roadside. The mulberry 
trees and hedges, too, looked quite familiar, com- 
ing as we did, from fenceless and hedgeless Ger- 
many. But here the resemblance ceased. The 
people were coarse, ignorant and savage-looking, 
tile villages remarkable for nothing except the 



A CHEATING LANDLORD. 291 

contrast between splendid churches and misera- 
ble, dirty houses, while the luxurious palaces and 
grounds of the rich noblemen formed a still 
greater contrast to the poverty of the people. 
I noticed also that if the latter are as lazy as they 
are said to be, they make their horses work for 
them, as in a walk of a few hours yesterday 
afternoon, we saw two horses drawing heavy 
loads, drop down apparently dead, and several 
others seemed nearly ready to do the same. 

We spent the night at the little village of Ca- 
sina, about sixteen miles from Milan, and here 
made our first experience in the honesty of Ital- 
ian inns. We had taken the precaution to in- 
quire beforehand the price of a bed ; but it 
seemed unnecessary and unpleasant, as well as 
evincing a mistrustful spirit, to do the same with 
every article we asked for, so we concluded to 
leave it to the host's conscience not to over- 
charge us. Imagine our astonisment, how- 
ever, when at starting, a bill was presented to 
us, in which the smallest articles were set down 
at three or four times their value. We remon- 
strated, but to little purpose; the fellow knew 
scarcely any French, and we as little Italian, so 
rather than lose time or temper, we paid* what he 
demanded and went on, leaving him to laugh at 
the successful imposition. _ The experience was of 
value to us, however, and it may serve as a warn- 
ing to some future traveller. 

About noon, the road turned into a broad and 
beautiful avenue of poplars, down which we saw, 
at a distance, the triumphal arch terminating the 
Simplon road, which we had followed from Sesto 
Calende. I^ond it rose the slight and airy pin- 
acle of the Duomo. We passed by the exquisite 
structure, gave up our passports at the gates, 
traversed the broad Piazza d'Armi, and found 
ourselves at liberty to choose one of the dozen 
streets that led into the heart of the city. 

10 



292 VIEWS A -FOOT. 



CHAPTER XXXI. 

MILAN. 

Aug. 21. — While finding our way at random to 
the "Pension Suisse," whither we had been di- 
rected by a German gentleman, we were agreea- 
bly impressed with the gaiety and bustle of 
Milan. The shops and stores are all open to the 
street, so that the city resembles a great bazaar. 
It has an odd look to see blacksmiths, tailors, 
and shoemakers working unconcernedly in the 
open air, with crowds continually passing before 
them . The streets are filled with venders of fruit , 
who call out the names with a long, distressing- 
cry, like that of a person in great agony. Organ- 
grinders parade constantly about and snatches 
of songs are heard among the gay crowd, on 
every side. 

In this lively, noisy Italian city, nearly all 
there is to see may be comprised in four things : 
the Duomo, the triumphal arch over the Simplon, 
La Scala and the Picture Gallery. The first 
alone is more interesting than many an entire 
city. We went there yesterday afternoon soon 
after reaching here. It stands in an irregular 
open place, closely hemmed in by houses on two 
sides, so that it can be seen to advantage from 
only one point. It is a mixture of the Gothic 
and Romanesque styles ; the body of the struct- 
ure is entirely covered with statues and richly 
wrought sculpture, with needle-like spires of 
white marble rising up from every corner. But 
of the exquisite, airy look of the whole mass, 
although so solid and vast, it is impossible to 
convey an idea. It appears like some fabric of 



THE DUO MO OF MILAN. 293 

frost-work which winter traces on the'wmdow- 
panes. There is a unity of beauty about the 
whole, which the eye takes in with a feeling of 
perfect and satisfied delight. 

Ascending the marble steps which lead to the 
front, I lifted the folds of the heavy curtain and 
entered. What a glorious aisle! The mighty 
pillars support a magnificent arched ceiling, 
painted to resemble fretwork, and the little light 
that falls through the small windows above, 
enters tinged with a dim golden hue. A feeling 
of solemn awe comes over one as he steps with 
a hushed tread along the colored marble floor 
and measures the massive columns till they blend 
with the gorgeous arches above. There are four 
rows of these, nearly fifty in all, and when I state 
that they are eight feet in diameter, and sixty or 
seventy in height, some idea may be formed of 
the grandeur of the building. Imagine the 
Gifard College, at Philadelphia, turned into one 
great hall, with four rows of pillars, equal in 
size to those around it, reaching to its roof, and 
you will have a rough sketch of the interior of 
the Duomo. 

In the centre of the cross is a light and beauti- 
ful dome; he who will stand under this, and look 
down the broad middle aisle to the entrance, has 
one of the sublimest vistas to be found in the 
world. The choir has three enormous windows, 
covered with dazzling paintings, and the ceiling 
is of marble and silver. There are gratings 
under the high altar, by looking into which, 
I could see a dark, lonely chamber below, 
where one or two feeble lamps showed a circle of 
praying-places. It was probably a funeral vault, 
which persons visited to pray for the repose of 
their friends' souls. The Duomo is not yet en- 
tirely finished, the workmen being still employed 
in various parts, but it is said, that when com- 
pleted there will be four thousand statues on the 
different parts of it. 



291 VIEWS A- FOOT. 

The design of the Duomo is said to be taken 
from Monte Rosa, one of the loftiest peaks of 
the Alps. Its hundreds of sculptured pinnacles, 
rising from every part of the body of the church, 
certainly bear a striking resemblance to the 
splintered ice-crags of Savoy. Thus we see how 
Art, mighty and endless in her forms though she 
be, is in every thing but the child of Nature. 
Her most divine conceptions are but copies of 
objects which we behold every day. The fault- 
less beauty of the Corinthian capital — the spring- 
ing and intermingling arches of the Gothic aisle 
— the pillared portico or the massive and sky- 
piercing pyramid — are but attempts at repro- 
ducing, by the studied regularity of Art, the 
ever-varied and ever-beautiful forms of mount- 
ain, rock and forest. But there is oftentimes a 
more thrilling sensation of enjoyment produced 
by the creations of man's hand and intellect 
than the grander effects of Nature, existing con- 
stantly before our eyes. It would seem as if 
man marvelled more at his own work than at 
the work of the Power which created him. 

The streets of Milan abound with priests in 
their cocked hats and long black robes. They 
all have the same solemn air, and seem to go 
about like beings shut out from all communion 
with pleasure. No sight lately has saddened me 
so much as to see a bright, beautiful boy, of 
twelve or thirteen years, in those gloomy gar- 
ments. Poor child! he little knows now what 
he may have to endure. A lonely, cheerless life, 
where every affection must be crushed as unholy, 
and every pleasure denied as a crime! And I 
knew by his fair brow and tender lip, that he 
had a warm and loving heart. I could not help 
regarding this class as victims to a mistaken 
idea of religious duty, and if I am not mistaken, 
I read on more than one countenance the traces 
of passions that burned within. It is mournful 
to see a people oppressed in the name of religion. 



MUSIC IN MILAN. 295 

The holiest aspirations of man's nature, instead 
of lifting him up to a nearer view of Christian 
perfection, are changed into clouds and shut out 
the light of heaven . Immense treasures, wrung 
drop by drop from the credulity of the poor and 
ignorant, are made use of to pamper the luxury 
of those who profess to be mediators between 
man and the Deity. The poor wretch may per- 
ish of starvation on a floor of precious mosaic, 
which perhaps his own pittance has helped to 
form, while ceilings and shrines of inlaid gold 
mock his dying eye with their useless splendor. 
Such a system of oppression, disguised under 
the holiest name, can only be sustained by the 
continuance of ignorance and blind superstition. 
Knowledge — Truth — Keason — these are the ram- 
parts which Liberty throws up to guard her 
dominions from the usurpations of oppression 
and wrong. 

We were last night in La Scala. Kossini's 
opera of William Tell was advertised, and as we 
had visited so lately the scene where that glori- 
ous historical drama was enacted, we went to 
see it represented in sound. It is a grand sub- 
ject, which in the hands of a powerful composer, 
might be made very effective, but I must confess 
I was disappointed in the present case. The 
overture is, however, very beautiful. It begins 
low and mournful, like the lament of the Swiss 
Over their fallen liberties. Occasionally a low 
drum is heard, as if to rouse them to action, 
and meanwhile the lament swells to a cry of de- 
spair. The drums now wake the land ; the horn 
of Uri is heard pealing forth its summoning 
strain, and the echoes seem to come oack from 
the distant Alps. The sound then changes for 
the roar of battle — the clang of trumpets, drums 
and cymbals. The whole orchestra did their 
best to represent this combat in music, which 
after lasting a short time, changed into the loud, 
victorious march of the conquerors. But the 



296 VIEWS A-FOOT. 

body of the opera, although it had several fine 
passages, was to me devoid of interest ; in fact, 
unworthy the reputation of Rossini. 

The theatre is perhaps the largest in the world. 
The singers are all good ; in Italy it could not be 
otherwise, where everybody sings. As I write, a 
party of Italians in the house opposite have been 
amusing themselves with going through the 
whole opera of "La, fille du Regiment" with the 
accompaniment of the piano, and they show the 
greatest readiness and correctness in their per- 
formance. They have now become somewhat 
boisterous, and appear to be improvising. One 
young gentleman executes trills with amazing 
skill, and another appears to have taken the part 
of a despairing lover, but the lady has a very 
pretty voice, and warbles on and on, like a night- 
ingale. Occasionally a group of listeners in the 
street below clap them applause, for as the win- 
dows are always open, the whole neighborhood 
can enjoy the performance. 

This forenoon I was in the Picture Gallery. It 
occupies a part of the Library Building, in the 
Palazzo Cabrera. It is not large, and many of 
the pictures are of no value to anybody but an- 
tiquarians; still there are some excellent paint- 
ings, which render it well worthy a visit. Among 
these, a marriage, by Raphael, is still in a very 
good state of preservation, and there are some 
fine pictures by Paul Veronese and the Caracci. 
The most admired painting, is "Abraham send- 
ing away Hagar, " by Guercino. I never saw a 
more touching expression of grief than in the face 
of Hagar. Her eyes are red with weeping, and as 
she listens in an agony of tears to the patriarch's 
command, she still seems doubting the reality of 
her doom. The countenance of Abraham is ven- 
erable and calm, and expresses little emotion ; 
but one can read in that of Sarah, as she turns 
away, a feelingof pity for her unfortunate rival. 

Next to the Duomo, the most beautiful -speci- 



THE AKCH OF PEA CE. 297 

men of architecture in Milan is the Arch of Peace, 
on the north side of the city, at the commence- 
ment of the Simplon Koad . It was the intention 
of Napoleon to carry the road under this arch, 
across the Piazza d' Armi, and to cut a way for 
it directly into the heart of the city, but the fall 
of his dynasty prevented the execution of this 
magnificent design, as well as the completion of 
the arch itself. This has been done by the Aus- 
trian government, according to the original plan ; 
they have inscribed upon it the name of Francis 
I., and changed the bas-reliefs of Lodi and Ma- 
rengo into those of a few fields where their forces 
had gained the victory. It is even said that in 
many parts which were already finished, they al- 
tered the splendid Roman profile of Napoleon in- 
to the haggard and repulsive features of Francis 
of Austria. 

The bronze statues on the top were made by an 
artist of Bologna, by Napoleon's order, and are 
said to be the finest works of modern times. In 
the centre is the goddess of Peace, in a triumphal 
car, drawn by six horses, while on the corners 
four angels, mounted, are starting off to convey 
the tidings to the four quarters of the globe. 
The artist has caught the spirit of motion and 
chained it in these moveless figures. One would 
hardly feel surprised if the goddess, chariot, 
horses and all, were to start off and roll away 
through the air. 

With the rapidity usual to Americans we have 
already finished seeing Milan, and shall start to- 
morrow morning on a walk to Genoa. 



298 VIEWS A- FOOT. 



CHAPTER XXXII. 

WALK FJROM MILAN TO GENOA. 

It was finally decided we should leave Milan, so 
the next morning we arose at five o'clock for the 
first time since leaving Frankfort. The Italians 
had commenced operations at this early hour, 
but we made our way through the streets with- 
out attracting quite so much attention as on 
our arrival. Near thegate ontheroad toPa\ ia, 
we passed a long colonnade which was certainly 
as old as the times of the Romans. The pillars 
of marble were quite brown with age, and bound 
together with iron to keep them from falling to 
pieces. It was a striking contrast to see this 
relic of the past standing in the middle of a 
crowded thoroughfare and surrounded by all the 
brilliance and display of modern trade. 

Once fairly out of the city we took the road to 
Pavia, along the banks of the canal, just as the 
rising sun gilded the marble spire of the Duomo. 
The country was a perfect level, and the canal, 
which was in many places higher than the land 
through which it passed, served also as a means 
of irrigation for the many rice-fields. The sky 
grew cloudy and dark, and before we reached 
Pavia gathered to a heavy storm. Torrents of 
rain poured down, accompanied with heavy 
thunder; we crept under an old gateway for 
shelter, as no house was near. Finally, as it 
cleared away, the square brown towers of the 
old city rose above the trees, and we entered the 
gate through a fine shaded avenue. Our pass- 
ports were of course demanded, but we were 
only detained a minute or two. The only thing 



WALKING IN L OMB A RD T. 299 

of interest is the University, formerly so cele- 
brated; it has at present about eight hundred 
students. 

We have reason to remember the city from 
another circumstance — the singular attention we 
excited. I doubt if Columbus was an object of 
greater curiosity to the simple natives of the new 
world, than we three Americans were to the 
good people of Pavia. I know not what part of 
our dress or appearance could have caused it, 
but we were watched like wild animals. If we 
happened to pause and look at anything in the 
street, there was soon a crowd of attentive 
observers, and as we passed on, every door and 
window was full of heads. We stopped in the 
market-place to purchase some bread and fruit 
for dinner, which increased, if possible, the sensa- 
tion. We saw eyes staring and fingers pointing 
at us from every door and alley. I am generally 
willing to contribute as much as possible to 
the amusement or entertainment of others, but 
such attention was absolutely embarrassing. 
There was nothing to do but to appear un- 
conscious of it, and we went along with as 
much nonchalance as if the whole town be- 
longed to us. 

We crossed the Ticino, on whose banks near 
Pavia, was fought the first great battle between 
Hannibal and the Romans. On the other side 
our passports were demanded at the Sardinian 
frontier and our knapsacks searched, which hav- 
ing proved satisfactory, we were allowed to en- 
ter the kingdom. Late in the afternoon we 
reached the Po, which in winter must be quarter 
of a mile wide, but the summer heats had dried 
it up to a small stream, so that the bridge of 
boats rested nearly its whole length in sand. 
We sat on the bank in the shade, and looked at 
the chain of hills which rose in the south, follow- 
ing the course of the Po, crowned with castles 
and villages and shining towers. It was here 



500 VIEWS A-FOOT. 

that I first began to realize Italian scenery. Al- 
though the hills were bare, they lay so warm 
and glowing in the sunshine, and the deep blue 
sky spread so calmly above, that it recalled 
all my dreams of the fair clime we had entered. 

We stopped for the night at the little village 
of Casteggio, which lies at the foot of the hills, 
and next morning resumed our pilgrimage. 
Here a new delight awaited us. The sky was of 
a heavenly blue, without even the shadow of a 
cloud, and full and fair in the morning sun- 
shine we could see the whole range of the 
Alps, from the blue hills of Friuli, which sweep 
down to Venice and the Adriatic, to the lofty 
peaks which stretch away to Nice and Marseilles! 
Like a summer cloud, except that they were far 
more dazzling and glorious, lay to the north of 
us the glaciers and untrodden snow-fields of the 
Bernese Oberland; a little to the right we saw 
the double peak of St. Gothard, where six days 
before we shivered in the region of eternal win- 
ter, while far to the north-west rose the giant 
dome of Mount Blanc. Monte Kosa stood near 
him, not far from the Great St. Bernard, and 
further to the south Mont Cenis guarded the en- 
trance from Piedmont into France. I leave you 
to conceive the majesty of such a scene, and you 
may perhaps imagine, for I cannot describe the 
feelings with which I gazed upon it. 

At Tortona, the next post, a great market 
was being held; the town was filled with country 
people selling their produce, and with venders of 
wares of all kinds. Fruit was very abundant — 
grapes, ripe figs, peaches and melons were 
abundant, and for a trifle one could purchase a 
sumptuous banquet. On inquiring the road to 
Novi, the people made us understand, after much 
difficulty, that there was a nearer way across 
the country, which came into the post-road 
again, and we concluded to take it. After two 
or three hours' walking in a burning sun, where 



THE PLAINS OF PIEDMONT. Ml 

our only relief was the sight of the Alps and a 
view of the battle-field of Marengo, which lay 
just on our right, we came to a stand — the road 
terminated at a large stream, where workmen 
were busily engaged in making a bridge across. 
We pulled off our boots and waded through, 
took a refreshing bath in the clear waters, and 
walked on through by-lanes. The sides were 
lined with luxuriant vines, bending under the 
ripening vintage, and we often cooled our thhsst 
with some of the rich bunches. 

The large branch of the Po we crossed, came 
down from the mountains, which we were ap- 
proaching. As we reached the post-road again, 
they were glowing in the last rays of the sun, 
and the evening vapors that settled over the 
plain concealed the distant Alps, although the 
snowy top of the Jungfrau and her companions 
the Wetterhorn and Schreckhorn, rose above it 
like the hills of another world. A castle or 
church of brilliant white marble glittered on the 
summit of one of the mountains near us, and as 
the sun went down without a cloud, the distant 
summits changed in hue to a glowing purple, 
amounting almost to crimson, which afterwards 
darkened into a deep violet. The western half 
of the sky was of a pale orange, and the eastern 
a dark red, which blended together in the blue of 
the zenith, that deepened as twilight came on. I 
know not if it was a fair specimen of an Italian 
sunset, but I must say, without wishing to be 
partial, that though certainly very soft and 
beautiful, there is no comparison with the splen- 
dor of such a scene in America. The day-sky of 
Italy better deserves its reputation. Although 
no clearer than our own, it is of a far brighter 
blue, arching above us like a dome of sapphire 
and seeming to sparkle all over with a kind of 
crystal transparency. 

We stopped the second night at Arquato, a 
little village among the mountains, and after 



302 VIEWS A-FOOT. 

having bargained with the merry landlord tor 
our lodgings, in broken Italian, took a last look 
at the plains of Piedmont and the Swiss Alps, in, 
the growing twilight. We gazed out on the 
darkening scene till the sky was studded with, 
stars, and went to rest with the exciting thought 
of seeing Genoa and the Mediterranean on the 
morrow. Next morning we started early, and 
after walking some distance made our breakfast 
in a grove of chestnuts, on the cool mountain 
side, beside a fresh stream of water. The sky 
shone like a polished gem, and the glossy leaves 
of the chestnuts gleamed in the morning sun. 
Here and there, on a rocky height, stood the re- 
mains of some knightly castle, telling of the 
Goths and Normans who descended through 
these mountain passes to plunder Rome. 

As the sun grew high, the heat and dust be- 
came intolerable, and this, in connection with 
the attention we raised everywhere, made us 
somewhat tired of foot-travelling in Italy. I 
verily believe the people took us for pilgrims on 
account of our long white blouses, and had I a 
scallop shell I would certainly have stuck it into 
my hat to complete the appearance. We stop- 
ped once to ask a priest the road ; when he had 
told us, he shook hands with us and gave us a 
parting benediction. At the common inns, 
where we stopped, we always met with civil 
treatment, though, indeed, as we only slept in 
them, there was little chance of practising im- 
position. We bought our simple meals at the 
baker's and grocer's, and ate them in the shade 
of the grape-bowers, whose rich clusters added 
to the repast. In this manner, we enjoyed Italy 
at the expense of a franc, daily. About noon, after 
winding about through the narrow defiles, the 
road began ascending. The reflected heat from 
the hills on each side made it like an oven ; there 
was not a breath of air stirring ; but we all felt, 
although no one said it, that from the summit 



THE MEDITERRANEAN. 303 

We could see the Mediterranean, and we pushed 
on as if life or death depended on it. Finally, 
the highest point came in sight — we redoubled 
our exertions, and a few minutes more brought 
us to the top, breathless with fatigue and ex- 
pectation. I glanced down the other side — there 
lay a real sea of mountains, all around; the 
farthest peaks rose up afar and dim, crowned 
with white towers, and between two of them 
which stood apart like the pillars of a gateway, 
we saw the broad expanse of water stretching 
away to the horizon — 

"To where the blue of heaven on bluer waves shut down!" 

It would have been a thrilling sight to see any 
ocean, when one has rambled thousands of miles 
among the mountains and vales of the inland, 
but to behold this sea, of all others, was glorious 
indeed! This sea, whose waves wash the feet of 
Naples, Constantinople and Alexandria, and 
break on the hoary snores where Troy and Tyre 
and Carthage have mouldered away! — whose 
breast has been furrowed by the keels of a hun- 
dred nations through more than forty centuries — 
from the first rude voyage of Jason and his Ar- 
gonauts, to the thunders of Navarino that her- 
alded the second birth of Greece ! You cannot 
wonder we grew romantic ; but short space was 
left for sentiment in the burning sun, with Genoa 
to be reached before night. The mountain Ave 
crossed is called the Bochetta, one of the loftiest 
of the sea-Alps (or Apennines) — the road winds 
steeply down towards the sea, following a broad 
mountain rivulet, now perfectly dried up, as 
nearly every stream among the mountains is. It 
was a long way to us ; the mountains seemed as if 
they would never unfold and let us out on the 
shore, and our weary limbs did penance enough 
for a multitude of sins. The dusk was beginning 
to deepen over the bay and the purple hues of sun- 



804 VIEWS A- FOOT. 

set were dying away from its amphitheatre of 
hills, as we came in sight of the gorgeous city. 
Half the population were out to celebrate a fes- 
tival, and we made our entry in the triumphal 
procession of some saint. 



CHAPTER XXXIII. 

SCENES IN GENOA, LEGHORN AND PISA. 

Have you ever seen some grand painting of a 
city, rising with its domes and towers and pal- 
aces from the edge of a glorious bay, shut in by 
mountains — the whole scene clad in those deep, 
delicious, sunny hues which you admire so much 
in the picture, although they appear unrealized 
in nature? If so, you can figure to yourself 
Genoa, as she looked to us at sunset, from the bat- 
tlements west of the city. When we had passed 
through the gloomy gate of the fortress that 
guards the western promontory, the whole scene 
opened at once on us in all its majesty. It looked 
to me less like a real landscape than a mighty 
panoramic painting. The battlements where we 
were standing, and the blue mirror of the Medi- 
terranean just below, with a few vessels moored 
near the shore, made up the foreground ; just in 
front lay the queenly city, stretching out to the 
eastern point of the bay, like a great meteor — 
this point, crowned with the towers and dome of 
a cathedral representing the nucleus, while the 
tail gradually widened out and was lost among 
the numberless villas that reached to the top of 
the mountains behind. A mole runs nearly 
across the mouth of the harbor, with a tall light- 
house at its extremity, leaving only a narrow pas- 
sage for vessels. As we gazed, a purple glow lay 



- A SAINT'S FESTIVAL. 305 

on the bosom of the sea, while far beyond the city, 
the eastern half of the mountain crescent around 
the gulf was tinted with the loveliest hue of 
orange. The impressions which one derives from 
looking on remarkable scenery, depend, for much 
of their effect, on the time and weather. 1 have 
been very fortunate in this respect in two in- 
stances, and shall carry with me through life, 
two glorious pictures of a very different charac- 
ter—the wild sublimity of the Brocken in cloud 
and storm, and the splendor of Genoa in an Ital- 
ian sunset. 

Genoa has been called the "city of palaces," 
and it well deserves the appellation. Row after 
row of magnificent structures rise amid gardens 
along the side of the hills, and many of the 
streets, though narrow and crooked, are lined 
entirely with the splendid dwellings of the Gen- 
oese nobles. All these speak of the republic in its 
days of wealth and power, when it could cope 
successfully with Venice, and Doria could threaten 
to bridle the horses of St. Mark. At present its 
condition is far different ; although not so fallen 
as its rival, it is but a shadow of its former self 
— the life and energy it possessed as a republic, 
has withered away under the grasp of tyranny. 

We entered Genoa, as I have already said, in a 
religious procession. On passing the gate we 
saw from the concourse of people and the many 
banners hanging from the windows or floating 
across the streets, that it was the day of a festa. 
Before entering the city we reached the proces- 
sion itself, which was one of unusual solemnity. 
As it was impossible in the dense crowd, to pass 
it, we struggled through till we reached a good 
point for seeing the whole, and slowly moved on 
with it through the city. First went a company 
of boys in white robes ; then followed a body of 
friars, dressed in long black cassocks, and with 
shaven crowns ; then a company of soldiers with 
a band of music; then a body of nuns, wrapped 



306 VIEWS A- FOOT. 

from head to foot in blue robes, leaving only a 
small place to see out of— in the dusk they looked 
very solemn and ghost-like, paid their low chant 
had to me something awful and sepulchral in it ; 
then followed another company of friars, and 
after that a great number of priests in white and 
black robes, bearing the statue of the saint, 
with a pyramid of flowers, crosses and blazing 
wax tapers, while companies of soldiery, monks 
and music brought up the rear. Armed guards 
walked at intervals on each side of the proces- 
sion, to keep the way clear and prevent disturb- 
ance ; two or three bands played solemn airs, al- 
ternating with the deep monotonous chanting 
of the friars. The whole scene, dimly lighted by 
the wax tapers, produced in me a feeling nearly 
akin to fear, as if I were witnessing some ghostly, 
unearthly spectacle. To rites like these, however, 
Avhich occur every few weeks, the people must be 
well accustomed. 

Among the most interesting objects in Genoa, 
is the Doria palace, fit in its splendor for a mon- 
arch's residence. It stands in the Strada Nova, 
one of the three principal streets, and I believe 
is still in the possession of the family. There are 
many others through the city, scarcely less mag- 
nificent, among which that of the Durazzo fam- 
ily may be pointed out. The American consu- 
late is in one of these old edifices, with a fine 
court-yard and ceilings covered with frescoes. 
Mr. Moro, the Vice Consul, did us a great kind- 
ness, which I feel bound to acknowledge, al- 
though it will require the disclosure of some pri- 
vate, and perhaps uninteresting circumstances. 
On leaving Frankfort, we converted — for the 
sake of convenience — the greater part of our 
funds into a draft on a Saxon- merchant in Leg- 
horn, reserving just enough, as we supposed, to 
take us thither. As in our former case, in Ger- 
many, the sum was too small, which we found to 
our dismay on reaching Milan. Notwithstand- 



DEPARTURE FOR LEGHORN. 307 

ingwe had travelled the whole ninety miles from 
that city to Genoa for three francs each, in the 
hope of having enough left to enable one at least 
to visit Leghorn, the expenses for a passport in 
Genoa (more than twenty francs) prevented this 
plan. I went therefore to the Vice Consul to as- 
certain whether the merchant on whom the draft 
was drawn, had any correspondents there, who 
might advance a portion of it. His secretary 
made many inquiries, but without effect; Mr. 
Moro then generously offered to furnish me with 
means to reach Leghorn, whence I could easily 
remit a sufficient sum to my two comrades. 
This put an end to our anxiety, (for I must con- 
fess we could not help feeling some), and I there- 
fore prepared to leave that evening in the " Vir- 
gilio." 

The feelings with which I look on this lovely 
land, are fast changing. What with the dust 
and heat, and cheating landlords, and the dull 
plains of Lombardy, my first experience was not 
very prepossessing. But the joyous and roman- 
tic anticipation with which I looked forward to 
realizing the dream of my earliest boyhood, is 
now beginning to be surpassed by the exciting 
reality. Every breath I drew in the city of Co- 
lumbus and Doria, was deeply tinctured with the 
magic of history and romance. It was like en- 
tering on a new existence, to look on scenes so 
lovely by nature and so filled with the inspiring 
memories of old. 

"Italia too, Italia! looking on thee, 
Full flashes on the soul the light of ages, 
Since the fierce Carthagenian almost won thee, 
To the last halo of the chiefs and sages 
Who glorify thy consecrated pages ! 
Thou wert the throne and grave of empires." 

The Virgilio was advertised to leave at six 
o'clock, and I accordingly went out to her in a 
little boat half an hour beforehand; but we 



SOS VIEWS A- FOOT. 

were delayed much longer, and I saw sunset 
again fade over the glorious amphitheatre of 
palaces and mountains, with the same orange 
gloom — the same purple and crimson flush, deep- 
ening into twilight—as before. An old blind 
man in a skiff, floated around under the bows of 
the boat on the glassy water, singing to the 
violin a plaintive air that appeared to be an 
evening hymn to the virgin. There was some- 
thing very touching in his venerable counte- 
nance, with the sightless eyes turned upward to 
the sunset heaven whose glory he could never 
more behold. 

The lamps were lit on the tower at the end of 
the mole as we glided out on the open sea; I 
stood on deck and watched the receding lights 
of the city, till they and the mountains above 
them were blended with the darkened sky. The 
sea-breeze was fresh and cool, and the stars glit- 
tered with a frosty clearness, which would have 
made the night delicious had not a slight rolling 
of the waves obliged me to go below. Here, be- 
sides being half seasick, I was placed at the 
mercy of many voracious fleas, who obstinately 
stayed, persisting in keeping me company. This 
was the first time I had suffered from these can- 
nibals, and such were my torments, I almost 
wished some blood-thirsty Italian would come 
and put an end to them with his stiletto. 

The first ray of dawn that stole into the cabin 
sent me on deck. The hills of Tuscany lay in 
front, sharply outlined on the reddening sky; 
near us was the steep and rocky isle of Gorgona ; 
and far to the south-west, like a low mist along 
the water, ran the shores of Corsica — the birth 
place of Columbus and Napoleon!* As the dawn 
brightened we saw on the southern horizon a 
cloud-like island, also imperishably connected 

* By recent registers found in Corsica, it has been dis- 
covered that this island also gave birth to the discoverer oi 
the new worlds 



SCENES IN LEGHORN. 309 

with the name of the latter — the prison-kingdom 
of Elba! North of us extended the rugged 
mountains of Carrarra — that renowned range 
whence has sprung many a. form of almost 
breathing beauty, and where yet slumber, per- 
haps, in the unhewn marble, the god-like shapes 
of an age of art, more glorious than any the 
world has ever yet heheld ! 

The sun rose from hehind the Apennines and 
masts and towers became visible through the 
golden haze, as we approached the shore. On a 
flat space between the sea and the hills, not far 
from the foot of Montenero, stands Leghorn. 
The harbor is protected by a mole, leaving a 
narrow passage, through which we entered, and 
after waiting two hours for the visit of the 
health and police officers, we were permitted to 
go on shore. The first thing that struck me, 
was the fine broad streets; the second, the 
motley character of the population. People 
were hurrying about noisy and bustling — Greeks 
in their red caps and capotes; grave turbaned 
and bearded Turks; dark Moors; the Corsair- 
looking natives of Tripoli and Tunis, and 
seamen of nearly every nation. At the hotel 
where I stayed, we had a singular mixture of 
nations at dinner: — two French, two Swiss, one 
Genoese, one Roman, one American and one 
Turk — and we were waited on by a Tuscan and 
an Arab! We conversed, together in four lan- 
guages, all at once. 

To the merchant, Leghorn is of more impor- 
tance than to the traveller. Its extensive trade, 
not only in the manufactures of Tuscany, but 
also in the productions of the Levant, makes it im- 
portant to the former, while the latter seeks in 
vain for fine buildings, galleries of art, or inter- 
esting historical reminiscences. Through the 
kind attention of the Saxon Consul, to whom I 
had letters, two or three days went by delight- 
fully. - 



310 VIEWS AFOOT. 

The only place of amusement here in summer 
is a drive along the seashore, called the Ardenza, 
which is frequented every evening by all who can 
raise a vehicle. I visited it twice with a German 
friend . We met one evening the Princess Corsini , 
wife of the Governor of Leghorn, on horseback— 
a young, but not pretty woman. The road leads 
out along the Mediterranean, past an old fort- 
ress, to a large establishment for the sea bath- 
ers, where it ends in a large ring, around which 
the carriages pass and re-pass, until sunset has 
gone out over the sea, when they return to the 
city in a mad gallop, or as fast as the lean 
horses can draw them. 

In driving around, we met two or three car- 
riages of Turks, in one of which I saw a woman 
of Tunis, with a curious gilded head-dress, eight- 
een inches in height. 

I saw one night a Turkish funeral. It passed 
me in one of the outer streets, on its way to the 
Turkish burying ground. Those following the 
coffin, which was covered with a heavy black 
pall, wore white turbans and long white robes 
—the mourning color of the Turks. Torches 
were borne by attendants, and the whole com- 
pany passed on at a quick pace. Seen thus 
by night, it had a strange and spectral appear- 
ance. 

There is another spectacle here which was ex- 
ceedingly revolting to me. The condemned crim- 
inals, chained two and two, are kept at work 
through the city, cleaning the streets. They are 
dressed in coarse garments of a dirty red color, 
with the name of the crime for which they were 
convicted, painted on the back. I shuddered to 
see so many marked with the words — "omicidio 
premeditsLto." All day they are thus engaged, 
exposed to the scorn and contumely of the crowd , 
and at night dragged away to be incarcerated 
in damp, unwholesome dungeons, excavated un- 
der the public thoroughfares. 



PIS A. 311 

The employment of criminals in this way is 
common in Italy. Two days after crossing St. 
Gothard, we saw a company of abject-looking 
creatures, eating their dinner by the road-side, 
near Bellinzona. One of them had a small bas- 
ket of articles of cotton and linen, and as he rose 
up to offer them to us, I was startled by the 
clanks of fetters. They were all employed to 
labor on the road. 

On going down to the wharf in Leghorn, in the 

morning, two" or three days ago, I found F 

and B just stepping on shore from the steam- 
boat, tired enough of the discomforts of the voy- 
age, yet anxious to set out for Florence as soon 
as possible. After we had shaken off the crowd 
of porters, pedlars and vetturini, and taken a 
hasty breakfast at the Cafe Americano, we went 
to the Police Office to get our passports, and 
had the satisfaction of paying two francs for per- 
mission to proceed to Florence. The weather 
had changed since the preceding day, and the 
sirocco-wind which blows over from the coast of 
Africa, filled the streets with clouds of dust, which 
made walking very unpleasant. The clear blue 
sky had vanished, and a leaden cloud hung low 
on the Mediterranean, hiding the shores of Cor- 
sica and the rocky isles of Gorgona and Capraja. 

The country between Leghorn and Pisa, is a 
flat marsh, intersected in several places by ca- 
nals to carry off the stagnant water which ren- 
ders this district so unhealthy. It is said that 
the entire plain between the mountains of 
Carrara and the hills back of Leghorn has been 
gradually formed by the deposits of the Arno and 
the receding of the Mediterranean, which is so 
shallow along the whole coast, that large ves- 
sels have to anchor several miles out. As we ap- 
proached Pisa over the level marsh, I could see 
the dome of the Cathedral and the Leaning 
Tower rising above the gardens and groves 
which surround it. : - 



312 VIEWS A- FOOT. 

Our baggage underwent another examination 
at the gate, where we were again assailed by the 
vetturini, one of whom hung on us like a leech 
till we reached a hotel, and there was finally no 
way of shaking him off except by engaging him 
to take us to Florence. The bargain having 
been concluded, we had still a few hours left and 
set off to hunt the Cathedral. We found it on an 
open square near the outer wall, and quite re- 
mote from the main part of the town. Emerg- 
ing from the narrow and winding street, one 
takes in at a glance the Baptistery, the Campo 
Santo, the noble Cathedral and. the Leaning 
Tower — forming altogether a view rarely sur- 
passed in Europe for architectural effect. But 
the square is melancholy and deserted, anl 
rank, untrampled grass fills the crevices of its 
marble pavement. 

I was surprised at the beauty of the Leaning 
Tower. Instead of an old, black, crumbling 
fabric, as I always supposed, it is a light, airy, 
elegant structure, of wnite marble, and its de- 
clension, which is interesting as a work of art 
(or accident,) is at the same time pleasing from 
its novelty. There have been many conjectures 
as to the cause of this deviation, which is up- 
wards of fourteen feet from the perpendicular; it 
is now generally believed that the earth having 
sunk when the building was half finished, it was 
continued by the architects in the same angle. 
The upper gallery, which is smaller than the 
others, shows a very perceptible inclination 
back towards the perpendicular, as if in some 
degree to counterbalance the deviation of the 
other part. There are eight galleries in all, 
supported by marble pillars, but the inside ot 
the Tower is hollow to the very top. 

We ascended by the same stairs which were 
trodden so often by Galileo in going up to make 
his astronomical observations; in climbing 
spirally around the hollow cylinder in the dark, 



THE LEANING TOWER. 313 

it was easy to tell on which side of the Tower 
we were, from the proportionate steepness of 
the staircase. There is a fine view from the top, 
embracing the whole plain as far as Leghorn on 
one side, with its gardens and grain fields spread 
out like a vast map. In a valley of the Carrar- 
ese Mountains to the north, we could see the 
little town of Lucca, much frequented at this 
season on account of its baths; the blue sum- 
mits of the Apennines shut in the view to the 
east. In walking through the cityl noticed two 
other towers, which had nearly as great a devia- 
tion from the perpendicular. We met a person 
who had the key of the Baptistery, which he 
opened for us. Two ancient columns covered 
with rich sculpture form the doorway, and the 
dome is supported by massive pillars of the red 
marble of Elba. The baptismal font is of the 
purest Parian marble. The most remarkable 
thing was the celebrated musical echo. Our 
cicerone stationed himself at the side of the font 
and sang a few notes. After a moment's pause 
they were repeated aloft in the dome, but with a 
sound of divine sweetness — as clear and pure as 
the clang of a crystal bell . Another pause— and 
we heard them again, higher, fainter and sweeter, 
followed by a dying note, as if they were fading 
far away into heaven. It seemed as if an angel 
lingered in the temple, echoing Avith his melo- 
dious lips the common harmonies of earth. Even 
thus does the music of good deeds, hardly noted 
in our grosser atmosphere, awake a divine echo 
in the far world of spirit. 

The Campo Santo, on the north side of the 
Cathedral, was, until lately, the cemetery of the 
city; the space enclosed within its marble gal- 
leries is filled to the depth of eight or ten feet, 
with earth from the Holy Land. The vessels 
which carried the knights of Tuscany to Pales- 
tine were filled at Joppa, on returning, with this 
earth as ballast; and on arriving at Pisa it was 



314 VIEWS A- FOOT. 

deposited in the Cemetery. It has the peculiar 
property of decomposing all human bodies, in 
the space of two days. A colonnade of marble 
encloses it, with windows of the most exquisite 
sculpture opening on the inside. They reminded 
me of the beautiful Gothic oriels of Melrose. At 
each end are two fine, green cypresses, which 
thrive remarkably in the soil of Palestine. The 
dust of a German emperor, among others, rests 
in this consecrated ground. There are other 
fine churches in Pisa, but the four buildings I 
have mentioned, are the principal objects of 
interest. The tower where Count Ugolino and 
his sons were starved to death by the citizens of 
Pisa, who locked them up and threw the keys 
into the Arno, has lately been destroyed. 

An Italian gentleman having made a bargain 
in the meantime with our vetturino, we found 
every thing ready on returning to the hotel. On 
the outside of the town we mounted into the 
vehicle, a rickety-looking concern, and as it com- 
menced raining, I was afraid we would have a 
bad night of it. After a great deal of bargain- 
ing, the vetturino agreed to take us to Florence 
that night for five francs a piece, provided one 
person would sit on the outside with the driver. 
I accordingly mounted on front, protected by a 
blouse and umbrella, for it was beginning to 
rain dismally. The miserable, bare-boned horses 
were fastened with rope-traces, and the vetturino 
having taken the rope-lines in his hand, gave a 
flourish with his whip; one old horse tumbled 
nearly to the ground, but he jerked him up 
again and we rattled off. 

After riding ten miles in this way, it became so 
wet and dreary that I was fain to give the driver 
two francs extra, for the privilege of an inside 
seat. Our Italian companion was agreeable and 
talkative, but as we were still ignorant of the 
language, I managed to hold a scanty conversa- 
tion with him in French. He seemed delighted 



NIGHT TRA VELLING. 315 

to learn that we were from America ; his polite 
reserve gave place to a friendly familiarity and 
lie was loud in his praises of Americans. I asked 
him why it was that he and the Italians gener- 
ally, were so friendly towards us. "I hardly 
know," he answered; "you are so different from 
any other nation; and then, too, you have so 
much sincerity!" 

The Apennines were wreathed and hidden in 
thick mist, and the prospect over the flat corn- 
fields bordering the road was not particularly 
i nteresting. We had made about one-third of the 
way as night set in, when on ascending a hill 

soon after dark, F happened to look out, and 

saw one of the axles bent and nearly broken off. 
We were obliged to get out and walk through the 
mud to the next village, when after two hours' 
delay, the vetturino came along with another 
carriage. Of the rest of the way to Florence I 
cannot say much. Cramped up in the narrow 
vehicle, we jolted along in the dark, rumbling 
now and then through some silent village, where 
lamps were burning before the solitary shrines. 
Sometimes a blinding light crossed the road, 
where we saw the tile-makers sitting in the red 
glare of their kilns, and often the black boughs 
of trees were painted momentarily on the cloudy 
sky. If the jolting carriage had even permitted 
sleep, the horrid cries of the vetturino, urging 
on his horses, would have prevented it ; and I 
decided, while trying to relieve my aching limbs, 
that three days' walking in sun and sand was 
preferable to one night of such travel. 

Finally about four o'clock in the morning the 
carriage stopped ; my Italian friend awoke and 
demanded the cause. " Signor," said the vettu- 
rino, " we are in Florence! " I blessed the man, 
and the city too. The good-humored officer 
looked at our passports and passed our bag- 
gage without examination ; we gave the gate- 
keeper a paul and he admitted us. The carriage 



31 G VIEWS A- FOOT. 

rolled through the dark, silent streets — passed a 
public square — came out on the Arno — crossed 
and entered the city again — and finally stopped 
at a hotel. The master of the "Lione Bianco" 
came down in an undress to receive us, and we 
shut the growing dawn out of our rooms to 
steal that repose from the day which the night 
had not given. 



CHAPTER XXXIV. 

FLORENCE AND ITS GALLERIES. 

Sept. 11. — Our situation here is as agreeable as 
we could well desire. We have three large and 
handsomely furnished rooms, in the centre of 
the city, for which we pay Signor Lazzeri, a 
wealthy goldsmith, ten scudo per month — a 
scudo being a trifle more than an American dol- 
lar. We live at the Cafes and Trattorie very con- 
veniently for twenty-five cents a day, enjoying, 
moreover, at our dinner in the Trattoria del 
Cacciatore, the company of several American 
artists with whom we have become acquainted. 
The day after our arrival we met at the table d' 
bote of the " Lione Bianco," Dr. Boardman of 
New York, through whose assistance we ob- 
tained our present lodgings. There are at pres- 
ent ten or twelve American artists in Florence, 
and we promise ourselves much pleasure and 

profit from their acquaintance. B and I are 

so charmed with the place and the beautiful 
Tuscan dialect, that we shall endeavor to spend 

three or four months here. F returns to 

Germany in two weeks, to attend the winter 
term of the University at his favorite HeideL 
berg. 



THE ROVAL GALLERT. 317 

Out first walk in Florence was to the Royal 
Gallery — we wished to see the "goddess living in 
stone ' ' without delay. Crossing the neighboring 
P'mzzsb delGmnduca,,we passed Michael Angelo's 
colossal statue of David, and an open gallery 
containing, besides some antiques, the master- 
piece of John of Bologna. The palace of the 
Uffizii, fronting on the Arno, extends along both 
sides of an avenue running back to the Palazzo 
Yecchio. We entered the portico which passes 
around under the great building, and after as- 
cending three or four flights of steps, came into 
a long hall, filled with paintings and ancient 
statuary. Towards the end of this, a door 
opened into the Tribune — that celebrated room, 
unsurpassed by any in the world for the number 
and value of the gems it contains. I pushed 
aside a crimson curtain and stood in the pres- 
ence of the Venus. 

It may be considered heresy, but I confess I 
did not at first go into raptures, nor perceive 
any traces of superhuman beauty. The pre- 
dominant feeling, if I may so express it, was 
satisfaction ; the eye dwells on its faultless out- 
line with a gratified sense, that nothing is want- 
ing to render it perfect. It is the ideal of a 
woman's form— a faultless standard by which 
all beauty may be measured, but without strik- 
ing expression, except in the modest and grace- 
ful position of the limbs. The face, though reg- 
ular, is not handsome, and the body appears 
small, being but five feet in height, which, I 
think, is a little below the average stature of 
women. On each side, as if to heighten its ele- 
gance by contrast with rude and unrefined na- 
t ure, are the statues of the Wrestlers, and the 
slave listening to the conspiracy of Catiline, 
called also The Whetter. 

As if to correspond with the value of the 
works it holds, the Tribune is paved with 
pt*ecious marbles and the ceiling studded with 



318 VIEWS A -FOOT. 

polished mother-of-pearl. A dim and subdued 
light fills the hall, which throws over the mind 
that half-dreamy tone necessary to the full en- 
joyment of such objects. On each side of the 
Venus de Medici hangs a Venus by Titian, the 
size of life, and painted in that rich and gor- 
geous style of coloring which has been so often 
and vainly attempted since his time. 

Here are six of Raphael's best preserved 
paintings. I prefer the" St. John in the Desert" 
to any other picture in the Tribune. His 
glorious form, in the fair proportions of ripen- 
ing boyhood— the grace of his attitude, With 
the arm lifted eloquently on high— the divine in- 
spiration which illumines his young features — 
chain the step irresistibly before it. It is one of 
those triumphs of the pencil which few but 
Kaphael have accomplished — the painting of 
spirit in its loftiest and purest form. Near it 
hangs the Fornarina, which he seems to have 
painted in as deep a love as he entertained for 
the original. The face is modest and beautiful, 
and filled with an expression of ardent and 
tender attachment. I never tire looking upon 
either of these two. 

Let me not forget, while we are in this peerless 
hall, to point out Guercino's Samian Sybil. It 
is a glorious work. With her hands clasped 
over her volume, she is looking up with a face 
full of deep and expressive sadness. A pictur- 
esque turban is twined around her head, and 
bands of pearls gleam amidst her rich, dark 
brown tresses. Her face bears the softness of 
dawning womanhood, and nearly answers my 
ideal of female beauty. The same artist has 
another fine picture here — a sleeping Endymion. 
The mantle has fallen from his shoulders, as he 
reclines asleep, with his head on his hand, and 
his crook beside him. The silver crescent of 
Dian looks over his shoulder from the sky be- 
hind, and no wonder if she should become en- 



ART AND IT ALT. 319 

amored,for a lovelier shepherd has not been seen 
since that of King Admetus went back to drive 
his chariot in the heavens. 

The "Drunken Bacchus " of Michael Angelo 
is greatly admired, and indeed it might pass for 
a relic of the palmiest times of Grecian art. 
The face, amidst its half-vacant, sensual expres- 
sion, shows traces of its immortal origin, and 
there is still an air of dignity preserved in the 
swagger of his beautiful form. It is, in a word, 
the ancient idea of a drunken god. It may be 
doubted whether the artist's talents might not 
have been employed better than in ennobling in- 
toxication. If he had represented Bacchus as 
he really is — degraded even below the level of 
humanity — it might be more beneficial to the 
mind, though less beautiful to the eye. How- 
ever, this is a question on which artists and 
moralists cannot agree. Perhaps, too, the rich 
blood of the Falernian grape produced a more 
godlike delirium than the vulgar brandy which 
oversets the moderns ! 

At one end of the gallery is a fine copy in 
marble of the Laocoon, by Bandinelli, one of 
the rivals of Michael Angelo. When it was 
finished, the former boasted it was better than 
the original, to which Michael made the apt re- 
ply: "It is foolish for those who walk in the 
footsteps of others, to say they go before them ! " 

Let us enter the hall of Mobe. One starts 
back on seeing the many figures in the attitude 
of flight, for they seem at first about to spring 
from their pedestals. At the head of the room 
stands the afflicted mother, bending over the 
youngest daughter who clings to her knees, with, 
an upturned countenance of deep and imploriDg 
agony. In vain ! the shafts of Apollo fall thick, 
and she will soon be childless. No wonder the 
strength of that wo depicted on her counte- 
nance should change her into stone. One of her 
sons — a beautiful, boyish form 5 — is lying on his 



320 VIE WS A -FO O T. 

back, just expiring, with the chill languor of 
death creeping over his limbs. We seem to hear 
the quick whistling of the arrows, and look in- 
voluntarily into the air to see the hovering 
figure of the avenging god. In a chamber near 
is kept the head of a faun, made by Michael 
Angelo, at the age of fourteen, in the garden of 
Lorenzo de Medici, from a piece of marble given 
him by the workmen. 

The portraits of the painters are more than 
usually interesting. Every countenance is full 
of character. There is the pale, enthusiastic 
face of Raphael, the stern vigor of Titian, the 
majesty and dignity of Leonardo da Vinci, and 
the fresh beauty of Angelica Kauffmann. I liked 
best the romantic head of Raphael Mengs. In 
one of the rooms there is a portrait of Alfieri, 
with an autograph sonnet of his own on the 
back of it. The house in which he lived and died, 
is on the north bank of the Arno, near the Ponte 
Caraja, and his ashes rest in Santa Croce. 

Italy still remains the home of art, and it is 
but just she should keep these treasures, though 
the age that brought them forth has passed 
away. They are her only support now ; her peo- 
ple are dependent for their subsistence on the 
glory of the past. The spirits of the old 
painters, living still on their canvas, earn from 
year to year the bread of an indigent and op- 
pressed people. This ought to silence those util- 
itarians at home, who oppose the cultivation of 
the fine arts, on the ground of their being useless 
luxuries. Let them look to Italy, where a pict- 
ure by Raphael or Correggio is a rich legacy for 
a whole city. Nothing is useless that gratifies 
that perception of beauty, which is at once the 
most delicate and the most intense of our men- 
tal sensations, binding us by an unconscious 
link nearer to nature and to Him, whose every 
thought is born of Beauty, Truth and Love. I 
envy not the one who looks with a cold aud in- 



A RELIGIOUS FESTIVAL. 321 

different spirit on these immortal creations of 
the old masters — these poems written in mar- 
ble and on the canvas. They who oppose every 
thing which can refine and spiritualize the nature 
of man, by binding him down to the cares of 
the work-day world alone, cheat life of half its 
glory. 

The eighth of this month was the anniversary 
of the birth of the Virgin, and the celebration, 
if such it might be called, commenced the even- 
ing before. It is the custom, and Heaven only 
knows how it originated, for the people of the 
lower class to go through the streets in a com- 
pany, blowing little penny whistles. We were 
walking that night in the direction of theDuomo, 
when we met a band of these men, blowing with 
all their might on the shrill whistles, so that the 
whole neighborhood resounded with one contin- 
ual, piercing, ear-splitting shriek. They marched 
in a kind of quick trot through the streets, fol- 
lowed by a crowd of boys, and varying the noise 
occasionally by shouts and howls of the most 
horrible character. They paraded through all 
the principal streets of the city, which for an 
hour sent up such an agonizing scream that you 
might have fancied it an enormous monster, ex- 
piring in great torment. The people seemed to 
take the whole thing as a matter of course, but 
it was to us a novel manner of ushering in a re- 
ligious festival. 

The sky was clear and blue, as it always is in 
this Italian paradise, when we left Florence a few 
days ago for Fiesole. In spite of many virtuous 
efforts to rise early, it was nine o'clock before we 
left the Porta San Gallo, with its triumphal arch 
to the Emperor Francis, striding the road to 
Hologna. We passed through the public walk 
at this end of the city, and followed the road to 
Fiesole along the dried-up bed of a mountain 
torrent. The dwellings of the Florentine nobil- 
ity occupy the whole slope, surrounded with rich 



322 VIEWS A-FOOT. 

and lovely gardens. The mountain and plain 
are both covered with luxuriant olive orchards, 
whose foliage of silver gray gives the scene the 
look of a moonlight landscape. 

At the base of the mountain of Fiesole we 
passed one of the summer palaces of Lorenzo 
the Magnificent, and a little distance beyond, 
took a foot-path overshadowed by magnificent 
cypresses, between whose dark trunks we looked 
down on the lovely Yal d'Arno. But I will re- 
serve all description of the view till we arrive at 
the summit. 

The modern village of Fiesole occupies the site 
of an ancient city, generally supposed to be of 
Etrurian origin. Just above, on one of the 
peaks of the mountain, stands the Acropolis, 
formerly used as a fortress, but now untenanted 
save by a few monks. From the side of its walls, 
beneath the shade of a few cypresses, there is a 
magnificent view of the whole of Val d'Arno, 
with Florence — the gem of Italy — in the centre. 
Stand with me a moment on the height, and let 
us gaze on this grand panorama, around which 
the Apennines stretch with a majestic sweep, 
wrapped in a robe of purple air, through which 
shimmer the villas and villages on their sides! 
The lovely vale lies below us in its garb of 
olive groves, among which beautiful villas are 
sprinkled as plentifully as white anemones in the 
woods of May. Florence lies in front of us, the 
magnificent cupola of the Duomo crowning its 
clustered palaces. We see the airy tower of the 
Palazzo Vecchio — the new spire of Santa Croce — 
and the long front of the Palazzo Pitti, with the 
dark foliage of the Boboli Gardens behind. Be- 
yond, far to the south, are the summits of the 
mountains near Siena. We can trace the sandy 
bed of the Arno down the valley till it disap- 
pears at the foot of the Lower Apennines, which 
mingle in the distance with the mountains of 
Carrara. 



THE "TOP OF FIBS OLE." 323 

Galileo was Avont to make observations "at 
evening from the top of Fiesole," and the square 
tower of the old church is still pointed out as 
the spot. Many a night did he ascend to its 
projecting terrace, and watch the stars as they 
rolled around through the clearest heaven to 
which a philosopher ever looked up. 

We passed through an orchard of fig trees, 
and vines laden with beautiful purple and golden 
clusters, and in a few minutes reached the re- 
mains of an amphitheatre, in a little nook on 
the mountain side. This was a work of Ro- 
man construction, as its form indicates. Three 
or four ranges of seats alone, are laid bare, and 
these have only been discovered within a few 
years. A few steps further we came to a sort of 
cavern, overhung with wild fig-trees. After 
creeping in at the entrance, we found ourselves 
in an oval chamber, tall enough to admit of our 
standing upright, and rudely but very strongly 
built. This was one of the dens in which the 
wild beasts were kept ; they were fed by a hole 
in the top, now closed up. This cell communi- 
cates with four or five others, by apertures 
broken in the walls. I stepped into one, and 
could see in the dim light, that it was exactly 
similar to the first, and opened into another 
beyond. 

Further down the mountain we found the an- 
cient wall of the city, without doubt of Etrurian 
origin. It is of immense blocks of stone, and 
extends more or less dilapidated around the 
whole brow of the mountain. In one place 
there stands a solitary gateway, of large stones, 
which looks as if it might have been one of the 
first attempts at using the principle of the arch. 
These ruins are all gray and ivied, and it startles 
one to think what a history Earth has lived 
through since their foundations were laid ! 

We sat all the afternoon under the cypress 
trees and looked down on the lovely valley, 
11 



324 VIEWS A-POOT. 

practising Italian sometimes with two young 
Florentines who came up to enjoy the "belr 
aria" of Fiesole. Descending as sunset drew 
on, we reached the Porta San Gallo, as the peo- 
ple of Florence were issuing forth to their even- 
ing promenade. 

One of my first visits was to the church of 
Santa Croce. This is one of the oldest in Flor- 
ence, venerated alike by foreigners and citizens 
for the illustrious dead whose remains it holds. 
It is a plain, gloomy pile, the front of which 
is still unfinished, though at the base, one 
sees that it was originally designed to be cov- 
ered with black marble. On entering the door 
we first saw the tomb of Michael Angelo. 
Around the marble sarcophagus which con- 
tains his ashes are three mourning figures, 
representing Sculpture, Painting and Archi- 
tecture, and his bust stands above — a rough, 
stern countenance, like a man of vast but un- 
refined mind. Further on are the tombs of 
Alfieri and Machiavelli and the colossal cen- 
otaph lately erected to Dante. Opposite re- 
poses Galileo. What a world of renown in these 
few names ! It makes one venerate the majesty 
of his race, to stand beside the dust of such 
lofty spirits. 

Dante's monument may be said to be only 
erected to his memory ; he sleeps at the place of 
his exile, 

" Like Scipio, buried by the upbraiding shorel" 

It is the work of Bicci, a Florentine artist, 
and has been placed there within a few years. 
The colossal figure of Poetry weeping over the 
empty urn, might better express the regret of 
Florence in being deprived of his ashes. The 
figure of Dante himself, seated above, is grand 
and majestic ; his hea,d is inclined as if in medi- 
tation, and his features bear the expression of 



SANTA CROCE. 325 

sublime thought. Were this figure placed there 
alone, on a simple and massive pedestal, it 
would be more in keeping with his fame than 
the lumbering heaviness of the present monu- 
ment. 

Machiavelli's tomb is adorned with a female 
figure representing History, bearing his portrait. 
The inscription, which seems to be somewhat ex- 
aggerated, is : tanto nomini nullum par elogium. 
Near lies Alfieri, the "prince of tragedy," as he 
is called by the Italians. In his life he was fond 
of wandering among the tombs of Santa Croce, 
and it is said that there the first desire and pre- 
sentiment of his future glory stirred within his 
breast. Now he slumbers among them, not the 
least honored name of that immortal company. 

Galileo's tomb is adorned with his bust. His 
face is calm and dignified, and beholds appro- 
priately in his hands, a globe and telescope. 
Aretino, the historian, lies on his tomb with a 
copy of his works clasped to his breast ; above 
that of Lanzi, the historian of painting, there is 
a beautiful fresco of the angel of fame; and 
oppositeto him is the scholar Lamio. The most 
beautiful monument in the church is that of a 
Polish princess, in the transept. She is lying on 
the bier, her features settled in the repose of 
death, and her thin, pale hands clasped across 
her breast. The countenance wears that half- 
smile, "so coldly sweet and sadly fair," which so 
often throws a beauty over the face of the dead, 
and the light pall reveals the fixed yet graceful 
outline of the form. 

In that part of the city, which lies on the south 
bank of the Arno, is the palace of the Grand 
Duke, known by the name of the Palazzo Pitti, 
from a Florentine noble of that name, by whom 
it was first built. It is a very large, imposing- 
pile,- preserving an air of lightness in spite of the 
rough, heavy stones of which it is built. It is 
another example of a magnificent failure. The 



826 VIEWS A- FOOT. 

Marquis Strozzi, having built a palace which 
was universally admired for its beauty, (which 
stands yet, a model of chaste and massive ele- 
gance,) his rival, the Marquis Pitti, made the 
proud boast that he would build a palace, in the 
court-yard of which could be placed that of 
Strozzi. These are actually the dimensions of 
the court-yard; but in building the palace, 
although he was liberally assisted by the Flor- 
entine people, he ruined himself, and his magnif- 
icent residence passed into other hands, while 
that of Strozzi is inhabited by his descendants 
to this very day. 

The gallery of the Palazzo Pitti is one of the 
finest in Europe. It contains six or seven hun- 
dred paintings, selected from the best works of 
the Italian masters. By the praiseworthy liber- 
ality of the Duke, they are open to the public, 
six hours every day, and the rooms are thronged 
with artists of all nations . 

Among Titian's works, there is his celebrated 
" Bella," a half-length figure of a young woman. 
It is a masterpiece of warm and brilliant color- 
ing, without any decided expression. The coun- 
tenance is that of vague, undefined thought, as 
of one who knew as yet nothing of the realities 
of life. In another room is his Magdalen, a 
large, voluptuous form, with her brown hair fall- 
ing like a veil over her shoulders and breast, but 
in her upturned countenance one can sooner read 
a prayer for an absent lover than repentance for 
sins she has committed. 

What could excel in beauty the Madonna della 
Sedia of Raphael ! It is another of those works 
of that divine artist, on which we gaze and gaze 
with a never-tiring enjoyment of its angelic 
beauty. To my eye it is faultless; I could not 
wish a single outline of form, a single shade of 
color changed. Like his unrivalled Madonna- in 
the Dresden Gallery, its beauty is spiritual as 
well as earthly; and while gazing on the glorious 



GALLERT TO THE GRAND DUKE. 327 

countenauce of the Jesus-child, I feel aii impulse 
I can scarcely explain — a longing to tear it from 
the canvas as if it were a breathing form, and 
clasp it to my heart in a glow of passionate 
love. What a sublime inspiration Raphael must 
have felt when he painted it ! Judging from its 
effects on the beholder, I can conceive of no 
higher mental excitement than that required to 
create it. 

Here are also some of the finest and best pre- 
served pictures of Salvator Rosa, and his por- 
trait — a wild head, full of spirit and genius. Be- 
sides several landscapes in his savage and 
stormy style, there are two large sea-views, in 
which the atmosphere is of a deep and exquisite 
softness, without impairing the strength and 
boldness of the composition. "A Battle Scene," 
is terrible. Hundreds of combatants are met in 
the shock and struggle of conflict. Horses, 
mailed knights, vassals are mixed together in 
wild confusion; banners are waving and lances 
flashing amid the dust and smoke, while the 
wounded and dying are trodden under foot in 
darkness and blood. I now first begin to com- 
prehend the power and sublimity of his genius. 
From the wildness and gloom of his pictures, he 
might almost be called the Byron of painters. 

There is a small group of the " Fates," by Mi- 
chael Angelo, which is one of the best of the few 
pictures which remain of him. As is well known, 
he disliked the art, saying it was only fit for 
women. . This picture shows, however, how 
much higher he might have gone, had he been so 
inclined. The three weird sisters are ghostly 
and awful — the one who stands behind, holding 
the distaff, almost frightful. She who stands 
ready to cut the thread as it is spun out, has a 
slight trace of pity on her fixed and unearthly 
lineaments. It is a faithful embodiment of the 
old Greek idea of the Fates. I have wondered 
why some artist has not attempted the subject 



328 VIEWS A-FOOT. 

in a different way. In the Northern Mythology 
they are represented as wild maidens, armed 
with swords and mounted on fiery coursers. Why 
might they not also be pictured as angels, with 
countenances of a sublime and mysterious 
beauty— one all radiant with hope and promise 
of glory, and one with the token of a better fu- 
ture mingled with the sadness with which it 
severs the links of life ? 

There are many, many other splendid works 
in this collection," but it is unnecessary to men- 
tion them. I have only endeavored, by taking 
a few of the best known, to give some idea of 
them as they appear to me. There are hundreds 
of pictures here, which, though gems in them- 
selves, are by masters who are rarely heard of 
in America, and it would be of little interest to 
go through the Gallery, describing it in guide- 
book fashion. Indeed, to describe galleries, 
however rich and renowned they may be, is in 
general a work of so much difficulty, that I 
know not whether the writer or the reader is 
made most tired thereby. 

This collection possesses also the celebrated 
statue of Venus, by Canova. She stands in the 
centre of a little apartment, filled with the most 
delicate and graceful works of painting. Al- 
though undoubtedly a figure of great beauty, it 
by no means struck me as possessing that ex- 
quisite and classic perfection which has been 
ascribed to it. The Yenus de Medici far sur- 
passes it. The head is larger in proportion to 
the size of the body, than that of the latter, but 
has not the same modest, virgin expression. 
The arm wrapped in the robe which she is press- 
ing to her breast, is finely executed, but the 
fingers of the other hand are bad — looking, as 
my friend said, as if the ends were whittled off! 
The body is, however, of fine proportions, 
though, taken as a whole, the statue is inferior 
to many other of Canova's works. 



AMERICAN CHILDREN. 329 

Occupying all the hill back of the Pitti Palace, 
are the Boboli Gardens, three times a week the 
great resort of the Florentines. They are said 
to be the most beautiful gardens in Italy. Num- 
berless paths, diverging from a magnificent 
amphitheatre in the old Eoman style, opposite 
the court-yard, lead either in long flights of 
steps and terraces, or gentle windings among 
beds sweet with roses, to the summit. Long- 
avenues, entirely arched and interwoven with 
the thick foliage of the laurel, which here grows 
to a tree, stretch along the slopes or wind in the 
woods through thickets of the fragrant bay. 
Parterres, rich with flowers and shrubbery, alter- 
nate with delightful groves of the Italian pine, 
acacia and laurel-leaved oak, and along the hill- 
side, gleaming among the foliage, are placed 
statues of marble, some of which are from the 
chisels of Michael Angelo and Bandinelli. In one 
part there is a little sheet of water, with an 
island of orange-trees in the centre, from which 
a broad avenue of cypresses and statues lead to 
the very summit of the hill. 

We often go there to watch the sun set over 
Florence and the vale of the Arno. The palace 
lies directly below, and a clump of pine-trees on 
the hillside, that stand out in bold relief on the 
glowing sky, makes the foreground to one of 
the loveliest pictures this side of the Atlantic. I 
saw one afternoon the Grand Duke and his 
family get into their carriage to drive out. One 
of the little dukes, who seemed a mischievous 
imp, ran out on a projection of the portico, 
where considerable persuasion had to be used to 
induce him to jump into the arms of his royal 
papa. I turned from these titled infants to 
watch a group of beautiful American children 
playing, for my attention was drawn to them by 
the sound of familiar words, and I learned after- 
wards they were the children of the sculptor 
Powers. I contrasted involuntarily the destinies 



330 VIEWS A- FOOT. 

of each;— -one to the enjoyment and proud energy 
of freedom, and one to the confining and vitiat- 
ing atmosphere of a court. The merry voices of 
the latter, as they played on the grass, came to 
my ears most gratefully. There is nothing so 
sweet as to hear one's native tongue in a for- 
eign land from the lips of children ! 



CHAPTER XXXV. 

A PILGRIMAGE TO VALLOMBROSA. 

A pilgrimage to Vallombrosa ! — in sooth it has 
a romantic sound. The phrase calls up images 
of rosaries, and crosses, and shaven-headed friars. 
Had we lived in theolden days, such things might 
verily have accompanied our journey to that 
holy monastery. We mightthen have gone bare- 
foot, saying prayers as we toiled along the banks 
of the Arno and up the steep Apennines, as did 
Benevenuto Cellini, before he poured the melted 
bronze into the mould of his immortal Perseus. 
But we are pilgrims to the shrines of Art and Gen- 
ius ; the dwelling-places of great minds are our 
sanctuaries. The mean dwelling, in which a poet 
has battled down poverty with the ecstasy of his 
mighty conceptions, and the dungeon in which a 
persecuted philosopher has lanquished, are to us 
sacred ; we turn aside from the palaces of kings 
and the battle-fields of conquerors, to visit them. 
The famed miracles of San Giovanni Gaulberto 
added little, in our eyes, to the interest of Val- 
lombrosa, but there were reverence and inspira- 
tion in the names of Dante, Milton, and Ariosto. 

We left Florence early, taking the way that 
leads from the Porta della Croce, up the north 
bank of the Aron. It was a bright morning, but 



PEASANTS OF THE APENNINES. 331 

there was a shade of vapor on the hills, which a 
practised eye might have taken as a prognostic 
of the rain that too soon came on. Fiesole, with 
its tower and Acropolis, stood out brightly from 
the blue background, and the hill of SanMiniato 
lay with its cypress groves in the softest morning 
light. The Contadini were driving into the city 
in their basket wagons, and there were some fair 
young faces among them, that made us think Ital- 
ian beauty was not altogether in the imagina- 
tion. 

After walking three or four miles, we entered 
the Apennines, keeping along the side of the 
Arno, whose bed is more than half dried up 
from the long summer heats. The mountain 
sides were covered with vineyards, glowing with 
their wealth of white and purple grapes, but the 
summits were naked and barren. We passed 
through the little town of Ponte Sieve, at the 
entrance of a romantic valley, where our view 
of the Arno was made more interesting by the 
lofty range of the Apennines, amid whose forests 
we could see the white front of the monastery 
of Vallombrosa. But the clouds sank low and 
hid it from sight, and the rain came on so hard 
that we were obliged to take shelter occasionally 
in the cottages by the wayside. In one of these 
we made a dinner of the hard, black bread of 
the country, rendered palatable by the addition 
of mountain cheese and some chips of an an- 
tique Bologna sausage. We were much amused 
in conversing with the simple hosts and their 
shy, gipsy-like children, one of whom, a dark- 
eyed, curly-haired boy, bore the name of 
Raphael. We also became acquainted with a 
shoemaker and his family, who owned a little 
olive orchard and vineyard, which they said pro- 
duced enough to support them. Wishing to 
know how much a family of six consumed in a 
year, we inquired the yield of their property. 
They answered, twenty small barrels of wine, 



332 VIEWS A- FOOT. 

and ten of oil. It was nearly sunset when we 
reached Pellago, and the wet walk and coarse 
fare we were obliged to take on the road, well 
qualified us to enjoy the excellent supper the 
pleasant landlady gave us. 

This little town is among the Apennines, at 
the foot of the magnificent mountain of Vollam- 
brosa. What a blessing it was for Milton, that 
he saw its loveliness before his eyes closed on 
this beautiful earth, and gained from it another 
hue in which to dip his pencil, when he painted 
the bliss of Eden I I watched the hills all day as 
we approached them, and thought how often his 
eyes had rested on their outlines, and how he 
had carried their forms in his memory for many 
a sunless year. The banished Dante, too, had 
trodden them, flying from his ungrateful coun- 
try ; and many another, whose genius has made 
him a beacon in the dark sea of the world's his- 
tory. It is one of those places where the enjoy- 
ment is all romance, and the blood thrills as we 
gaze upon it. 

We started early next morning, crossed the 
ravine, and took the well-paved way to the mon- 
astery along the mountain side. The stones are 
worn" smooth by the sleds in which ladies and 
provisions are conveyed up, drawn by the beau- 
tiful white Tuscan oxen. The hills are covered 
with luxuriant chestnut and oak trees, of those 
picturesque forms which they only wear in Italy : 
one wild dell in particular is much resorted to by 
painters for the ready-made foregrounds it sup- 
plies. Further on, Ave passed the 2War.no, a rich 
farm belonging to the Monks. The vines which 
hung from tree to tree, were almost breaking be- 
neath clusters as heavy and rich as those which 
the children of Israel bore on staves from the 
Promised Land. Of their flavor, we can say, 
from experience, they were worthy to have grown 
in Paradise. We then entered a deep dell of the 
mountain, where little shepherd girls were stfc- 



VALLOMBROSA. 333 

ting on the rocks tending their sheep and spin 
ning with their fingers from a distaff, in the same 
manner, doubtless, as the Roman shepherdess 
two thousand years ago. Gnarled, gray olive 
trees, centuries old, grew upon the bare soil, and 
a little rill fell in a tiny cataract down the glen. 
By a mill, in one of the coolest and wildest 
nooks I ever saw, two of us acted the part of 
water spirits under one of these, to the great 
astonishment of four peasants, who watched us 
from a distance. 

Beyond, our road led through forests of chest- 
nut and oak, and a broad view of mountain and 
vale lay below us. We asked a peasant boy we 
met, how much land the Monks of Vallombrosa 
possessed. "All that you see!" was the reply. 
The dominion of the good fathers reached once 
even to the gates of Florence. At length, about 
noon, we emerged from the woods into a broad 
avenue leading across a lawn, at whose extrem- 
ity stood the massive buildings of the monas- 
tery. On the rock that towered above it was the 
Paradisino, beyond which rose the mountain, 
covered with forests— 

" Shade above shade, a woody theatre, 
Of stateliest view" — 

as Milton describes it. We were met at the en- 
trance by a young monk in cowl and cassock, to 
whom we applied for permission to stay till the 
next day, which was immediately given . Brother 
Placido (for that was his name) then asked us 
if we would not have dinner. We replied that 
our appetites were none the worse for climbing 
the mountain ; and in half an hour sat down to 
a dinner, the like of which we had not seen for a 
long time. Verily, thought I, it must be a pleas- 
ant thing to be a monk, after all ! — that is, a 
monk of Vallombrosa. 

In the afternoon Ave walked through a grand 
pine forest to the western brow of the mountain, 



834 VIEWS A-rOOT. 

where a view opened which it would require a 
wonderful power of the imagination for you to 
see in fancy, as I did in reality. From the height 
where we stood, the view was uninterrupted tc 
the Mediterranean, a distance of more than 
seventy miles ; a valley watered by a branch of 
the Arno SAvept far to the east, to the mountains 
near the Lake of Thrasymene ; northwestwards 
the hills of Carrara bordered the horizon; the 
space between these wide points was filled with 
mountains and valleys, all steeped in that soft 
blue mist which makes Italian landscapes more 
like heavenly visions than realities. Florence 
was visible afar off, and the current of the Arno 
flashed in the sun. A cool and almost chilling 
wind blew constantly over the mountain, al- 
though the country below basked in summer 
heat. We lay on the rocks, and let our souls 
luxuriate in the lovely scene till near sunset. 
Brother Placido brought us supper in the even- 
ing, with his ever-smiling countenance, and we 
soon after went to our beds in the neat, plain 
chambers, to get rid of the unpleasant coldness. 
Next morning it was damp and misty, and 
thick clouds rolled doAvn the forests towards the 
convent. I set out for the "Little Paradise," 
taking in my way the pretty cascade which falls 
some fifty feet down the rocks. The building is 
not now as it was when Milton lived here, hav- 
ing been rebuilt within a short time. I found no 
one there, and satisfied my curiosity by climbing 
over the wall and looking in at the windows. A 
little chapel stands in a cleft of the rock below, 
to mark the miraculous escape of St. John Gual- 
berto, founder of the monastery. Being one day 
very closely pursued by the Devil, he took shelter 
under the rock, which immediately became soft 
and admitted him into it, while the fiend, unable 
to stop, was precipitated over the steep. All this 
is related in a Latin inscription, and we saw a 
large hollow in the rock near, which must have 



LEGEND OF THE CHAPEL. 335 

been intended for the imprint left by his sacred 
person. 

One of the monks told us another legend, con- 
cerning a little chapel which stands alone on a 
wild part of the mountain, above a rough pile 
of crags, called the "Peak of the Devil." "In 
the time of San Giovanni Gualberto, the holy 
founder of our order," said he, "there was a 
young man, of a noble family in Florence, who 
was so moved by the words of the saintly father, 
that he forsook the world, wherein he had lived 
with great luxury and dissipation, and became 
monk. But, after a time, being young and 
tempted again by the pleasures he had re- 
nounced, he put off the sacred garments. The 
holy San Giovanni warned him of the terrible 
danger in which he stood, and at length the 
wicked young man returned. It was not a great 
while, however, before he became dissatisfied, 
and in spite all holy counsel, did the same thing 
again. But behold what happened ! As he was 
walking along the peak where the chapel stands, 
thinking nothing of his great crime, the devil 
sprang suddenly from behind a rock, and catch- 
ing the young man in his arms, before he could 
escape, carried him with a dreadful noise and a 
great red flame and smoke over the precipice, so 
that he was never afterwards seen." 

The church attached to the monastery is small, 
but very solemn and venerable. I went several 
times to muse in its still, gloomy aisle, and hear 
the murmuring chant of the Monks, who went 
through their exercises in some of the chapels. 
At one time I saw them all, in long black cas- 
socks, march in solemn order to the chapel of 
St. John Gualberto, where they sang a deep 
chant, which to me had something awful and 
sepulchral in it. Behind the high altar I saw 
their black, carved chairs of polished oak, with 
ponderous gilded foliants lying on the rails be- 
fore them. The attendant opened one of these, 



336 VIEWS A- FOOT. 

that we might see the manuscript notes, three or 
four centuries old, from which they sung. 

We were much amused in looking through two 
or three Italian books, which were lying in the 
traveller's room. One of these which our friend 
Mr. Tandy, of Kentucky, read, described the 
miracles of the patron saint with an air of the 
most ridiculous solemnity. The other was a de- 
scription of the Monastery, its foundation, his- 
tory, etc. In mentioning its great and far- 
spread renown, the author stated that even an 
English poet, by the name of Milton, had men- 
tioned it in the following lines, which I copied 
verbatim from the book : 

" Thick as autumnal scaves that strow she brooks 
In vallombrosa, whereth Etruian Jades 
Stigh over orch d'embrover ! " 

In looking over the stranger's book, I found 
among the names of my countrymen, that of 
S. V. Clevenger, the talented and lamented sculp- 
tor who died at sea on his passage home. There 
were also the names of Mrs. Shelley and the 
Princess Potemkiu, and I saw written on the 
wall, the autograph of Jean Reboul, the cele- 
brated modern French poet. We were so de- 
lighted with the place we would have stayed an- 
other day, but for fear of trespassing too much 
on the lavish and unceasing hospitality of the 
good fathers. 

So in the afternoon we shook hands with 
Brother Placido, and turned our backs regret- 
fully upon one of the loneliest and loveliest 
spots of which earth can boast. The sky be- 
came gradually clear as we descended, and the 
mist raised itself from the distant mountains. 
We ran down through the same chestnut groves, 
diverging a little to go through the village of 
Tosi, which is very picturesque when seen from 
a distance, but extremely dirty to one passing 
through. I stopped in the ravine below to take 



SUNSET AMLNZ, THE MOUNTAINS. 337 

a sketch of the mill and bridge, and as we sat, 
the line of golden sunlight rose higher on the 
mountains above. On walking down the shady 
side of this glen, we were enraptured with the 
scenery. A brilliant yet mellow glow lay over 
the whole opposing height, lighting up the 
houses of Tosi and the white cottages half seen 
among the olives, while the mountain of 
Vallombrosa stretched far heavenward like a 
sunny painting, with only a misty wreath float- 
ing and waving around its summit. The glossy 
foliage of the chestnuts was made still brighter 
by the warm light, and the old olives softened 
down into a silvery gray, whose contrast gave 
the landscape a character of the mellowest 
beauty. As we wound out of the deep glen, the 
broad valleys and ranges of the Apennines lay 
before us, forests, castles and villages steeped in 
the soft, vapory blue of the Italian atmosphere, 
and the current of the Arno flashing like a 
golden belt through the middle of the picture. 

The sun was nearly down, and the mountains 
just below him were of a deep purple hue, while 
those that ran out to the eastward wore the 
most aerial shade of blue. A few scattered 
clouds, floating above, soon put on the sunset 
robe of orange and a band of the same soft 
color encircled the western horizon. It did not 
reach half way to the zenith, however ; the sky 
above was blue, of such a depth and transpar- 
ency, that to gaze upward was like looking into 
eternity. Then how softly and soothingly the 
twilight came on! How deep a hush sank on 
the chestnut glades, broken only by the song of 
the cicada, chirping its "good-night carol!" 
The mountains, too, how majestic they stood 
in their deep purple outlines! Sweet, sweet 
Italy ! I can feel now how the soul may cling to 
thee, since thou canst thus gratify its insatiable 
thirst for the Beautiful. Even thy plainest 
gQ£Jie W clothed in hues that seem borrowed of 



338 VIEWS A- FOOT. 

heaven ! In the twilight, more radiant than 
light, and the stillness, more eloquent than 
music, which sink down over the sunny beauty 
of thy shores, there is a silent, intense poetry 
that stirs the soul through all its impassioned 
depths. With warm, blissful tears filling the 
eyes and a heart overflowing with its own bright 
fancies, I wander in the solitude and calm of 
such a time, and love thee as if I were a child of 
thy soil ! 



CHAPTER XXXVI. 

WALK TO SIENA AND PRATOLINO— INCIDENTS IN 
FLORENCE. 

October 16. — My cousin, being anxious to visit 
Home, and reach Heidelberg before the com- 
mencement of the winter semestre, set out to- 
wards the end of September, on foot. We ac- 
companied him as far as Siena, forty miles dis- 
tant. As I shall most probably take another 
road to the Eternal City, the present is a good 
opportunity to say something of that romantic 
old town, so famous throughout Italy for the 
honesty of its inhabitants. 

We dined the first day seventeen miles from 
Florence, at Tavenella, where, for a meagre din- 
ner the hostess had the assurance to ask us 
seven pauls. We told her we would give but four 
and a half, and by assuming a decided manner, 
with a plentiful use of the word "Signora" she 
was persuaded to be fully satisfied with the lat- 
ter sum. From a height near, we could see the 
mountaius coasting the Mediterranean, and 



A CO UN TR 1 ' INN. 339 

shortly after, on descending a long hill, the little 
town of Poggibonsi lay in the warm afternoon 
light, on an eminence before us. It was soon 
passed with its dusky towers, then Stagia look- 
ing desolate in its ruined and ivied walls, and 
following the advice of a peasant, we stopped 
for the night at the inn of Querciola. As we 
knew something of Italian by this time, we 
thought it best to inquire the price of lodging, 
before entering. The padrone asked if we meant 
to take supper also. We answered in the affirma- 
tive; "then," said he, "you will pay half a paul 
(about five cents) apiece for a bed." We passed 
under the swinging bunch of boughs, which in 
Italy is the universal sign of an inn for the com- 
mon people, and entered the bare, smoky room 
appropriated to travellers. A long table, with 
well-worn benches, were the only furniture ; we 
threw our knapsacks on one end of it and sat 
down, amusing ourselves while supper was pre- 
paring, in looking at a number of grotesque 
charcoal drawings on the wall, which the flaring 
light of our tall iron lamp revealed to us. At 
length the hostess, a kindly-looking woman, 
with a white handkerchief folded gracefully 
around her head, brought us a dish of fried 
eggs, which, with the coarse black bread of the 
peasants and a basket full of rich grapes; made 
us an excellent supper. We slept on mattresses 
stuffed with corn-husks, placed on square iron 
fiames, which are the bedsteads most used in 
Italy. A brightly painted caricature of some 
saint or rough crucifix, trimmed with bay -leaves, 
hung at the head of each bed, and under their 
devout protection we enjoyed a safe and un- 
broken slumber. 

Next morning we set out early to complete the 
remaining ten miles to Siena. The only thing of 
interest on the road, is the ruined wall and bat- 
tlements of Castiglione, circling a high hill and 
looking as old as the days of Etruria. The 



340 VIEWS A -FOOT. 

towers of Siena are seen at some distance, but 
approaching it from this side, the traveller does 
not perceive its romantic situation until he ar- 
rives. It stands on a double hill, which is very 
steep on some sides ; the hollow between the two 
peaks is occupied by the great public square, ten 
or fifteen feet lower than the rest of the city. We 
left our knapsacks at a cafe and sought the cele- 
brated Cathedral, which stands in the highest 
part of the town, forming with its flat dome and 
lofty marble tower, an apex to the pyramidal 
mass of buildings. 

The interior is rich and elegantly perfect. 
Every part is of black and white marble, in what 
I should call the striped style, which has a singu- 
lar but agreeable effect. The inside of the dome 
and the vaulted ceilings of the chapels, are of 
blue, with golden stars; the pavement in the 
centre is so precious a work that it is kept cov- 
ered with boards and only shown once a year. 
There are some pictures of great value in this 
Cathedral; one of "The Descent of the Dove," 
is worthy of the best days of Italian art. In an 
adjoining chamber, with frescoed walls, and a 
beautiful tesselated pavement, is the library, 
consisting of a few huge old volumes, which with 
their brown covers and brazen clasps, look as 
much like a collection of flat leather trunks as 
any thing else. In the centre of the room stands 
the mutilated group of the Grecian Graces, found 
in digging the foundation of the Cathedral. The 
figures are still beautiful and graceful, with that 
exquisite curve of outline which is such a charm 
in the antique statues. Canova has only per- 
fected the idea in his celebrated group, which is 
nearly a copy of this. 

We strolled through the square and then ac- 
companied our friend to the Roman gate, whera 
we took leave of him for six months at least. 
He felt lonely at the thought of walking in Italy 
without a companion, but was cheered by 



RETURj* rc> FLORENCE. U\ 

the anticipation of soon reaching Rome. We 
watched him awhile, walking rapidly over the 
hot plain towards Radicofani, and then, turning 
our faces with much pleasure towards Florence, 
we commenced the return walk. I must not for- 
get to mention the delicious grapes which we 
bought, begged and stole on the way. The whole 
country is like one vineyard — and the people 
live, in a great measure, on the fruit, during 
this part of the year. Would you not think it 
highly romantic and agreeable to sit in the shade 
of a cypress grove^ beside some old weather- 
beaten statues, looking out over the vales oi 
the Apennines, with a pile of white and purple 
grapes beside you, the like of which can scarcely 
be had in America for love or money, and which 
had been given you by a dark-eyed peasant girl? 
If so, you may envy us, for such was exactly our 
situation on the morning before reaching Flor- 
ence. 

Being in the Duomo, two or three days ago, I 
met a German traveller, who has walked through 
Italy thus far, and intends continuing his jour- 
ney to Rome and Naples. His name is Von 
Raumer. He was well acquainted w r ith the pres- 
ent state of America, and I derived much pleas- 
ure from his intelligent conversation. Y/e con- 
cluded to ascend the cupola in company. Two 
black-robed boys led the way ; after climbing an 
infinite number of steps, we reached the gallery 
around the foot of the dome. The glorious 
view of that paradise, the vale of the Arno, shut 
in on all sides by mountains, some bare and des- 
olate, some covered with villas, gardens, and 
groves, lay in soft, hazy light, with the shadows 
of a few light clouds moving slowly across it. 
They next took us to a gallery on the inside of 
the dome, where we first saw the immensity of 
its structure. Only from a distant view, or in 
ascending it, can one really measure its gran- 
deur. The frescoes^ which from below appear 



342 VIEWS A- FOOT. 

the size of life, are found to be rough and mon- 
strous daubs; each figure being nearly as many 
fathoms in length as a man is feet. Continuing 
our ascent, we mounted between the inside and 
outside shells of the dome. It was indeed a bold 
idea for Brunelleschi to raise such a mass in air. 
The dome of Saint Peter's which is scarcely as 
large, was not made until a century after, and 
this was, therefore, the first attempt at raising 
one on so grand a scale. It seems still as solid 
as if just built. 

There was a small door in one of the projec- 
tions of the lantern, which the sacristan told us 
to enter and ascend still higher. Supposing 
there was a fine view to be gained, two priests, 
who had just come up, entered it ; the German 
followed, and I after him. After crawling in at 
the low door, we found ourselves in a hollow 
pillar, little wider than our bodies. Looking 
up, I saw the German's legs just above my head, 
while the other two were above him, ascending 
by means of little iron bars fastened in the mar- 
ble. The priests were very much amused, and 
the German said : — " This is the first time I ever 
learned chimney-sweeping!" We emerged at 
length into a hollow cone, hot and dark, with a 
rickety ladder going up somewhere; we could 
not see where. The old priest, not wishing to 
trust himself to it, sent his younger brother up, 
and we shouted after him: — "What kind of a 
view have you?" He climbed up till the cone 
got so narrow he could go no further, and an- 
swered back in the darkness: — "I see nothing 
at all!" Shortly after he came down, covered 
with dust and cobwebs, and we all descended 
the chimney quicker than we went up. The old 
priest considered it a good joke, and laughed 
till his fat sides shook. We asked the sacristan 
why he sent us up, and he answered :— " To see 
the construction of the Church /" 
. I attended service in the Cathedral one dark, 



THE DUOMO OF FLORENCE. 343 

rainy morning, and was never before so deeply 
impressed with the majesty and grandeur of the 
mighty edifice. The thick, cloudy atmosphere 
darkened still more the light which came through 
the stained windows, and a solemn twilight 
reigned in the long aisles. The mighty dome 
sprang far aloft, as if it enclosed a part of 
heaven, for the light that struggled through the 
windows around its base, lay in broad bars on 
the blue, hazy air. 1 would not have been sur- 
prised at seeing a cloud float along within it. 
The lofty burst of the organ, that seemed like 
the pantings of a monster, boomed echoing 
away through dome and nave, with a chiming, 
metallic vibration, that shook the massive 
pillars which it would defy an earthquake to 
rend. All w T as wrapped in dusky obscurity, ex- 
cept where, in the side-chapels, crowns of tapers 
were burning around the images. One knows 
not which most to admire, the genius which 
could conceive, or the perseverance which could 
accomplish such a work. On one side of the 
square, the colossal statue of the architect, 
glorious old Brunelleschi, is most appropriately 
placed, looking up with pride at his perform- 
ance. 

The sunshine and genial airs of Italy have 
gone, leaving instead a cold, gloomy sky and 
chilling winds. The autumnal season has fairly 
commenced, and I suppose I must bid adieu to 
the brightness which made me in love with the 
land. The change has been no less sudden than 
unpleasant, and if, as they say, it will continue 
all winter with little variation, I shall have to 
seek a clearer climate. In the cold of these 
European winters, there is, as I observed last 
year in Germany, a dull, damp chill, quite differ- 
ent from the bracing, exhilarating frosts of 
America. It stagnates the vital principle and 
leaves the limbs dull and heavy, with a lifeless 
feeling which can scarcely be overcome by vigor- 



344 r'fElVS A- FOOT. 

ous action. At least, such has been my ex- 
perience. 

We lately made an excursion to Pratolino, on 
the Apennines, to see the vintage, and the cele- 
brated colossus, by John of Bologna. Leaving 
Florence in the morning, with a cool, fresh wind 
blowing down from the mountains, we began 
ascending by the road to Bologna. We passed 
Fiesole with its tower and acropolis on the right, 
ascending slowly, with the bold peak of one of 
the loftiest Apennines on our left. The abun- 
dant fruit of the olive was beginning to turn 
brown, and the grapes were all gathered in from 
the vineyards, but we learned from a peasant- 
boy that the vintage was not finished at Prato- 
lino. 

We finally arrived at an avenue shaded with 
sycamores, leading to the royal park. The vint- 
agers were busy in the fields around, unloading 
the vines of their purple tribute, and many a 
laugh and jest among the merry peasants en- 
livened the toil. We assisted them in disposing 
of some fine clusters, and then sought the 
" Colossus of the Apennines." He stands above 
a little lake, at the head of a long mountain- 
slope, broken with clumps of magnificent trees. 
This remarkable figure, the work of John of Bo- 
logna, impresses one like a relic of the Titans. 
He is represented as half-kneeling, supporting 
himself with one hand, while the other is pressed 
upon the head of a dolphin, from which a little 
stream falls into the lake. The height of the 
figure when erect, would amount to more than 
sixty feet ! Wo measured one of the feet, which 
is a single piece of rock, about eight feet long ; 
from the ground to the top of one knee is nearly 
twenty feet. The limbs are formed of pieces of 
stone, joined together, and the body of stone 
and brick. His rough hair and eyebrows, and 
the beard, which reached nearly to the ground, 
are formed of stalactites, taken from caves, 



ITALIAN GRAPE WINE. 345 

and fastened together in a dripping and crusted 
mass. These hung also from his limbs and body, 
and gave him the appearance of Winter in his 
mail of icicles. By climbing up the rocks at his 
back, we entered his body, which contains a 
small-sized room ; it was even possible to ascend 
through his neck and look out at his ear ! The 
face is in keeping with the figure — stern and 
grand, and the architect (one can hardly say 
sculptor) has given to it the majestic air and 
sublimity of the Apennines. But who can build 
up an image of the Alp? 

We visited the factory on the estate, where 
wine and oil are made. The men had just 
brought in a cart-load of large wooden vessels, 
filled with grapes, which they were mashing with 
heavy wooden pestles. When the grapes were 
pretty well reduced to pulp and juice, they 
emptied them into an enormous tun, which they 
fcold us would be covered air-tight, and left 
for three or four weeks, after which the wine 
would be drawn off at the bottom. They showed 
us also a great stone mill for grinding olives ; 
this estate of the Grand Duke produces five hun- 
dred barrels of wine and a hundred and fifty of 
oil, every year. The former article is the uni- 
versal beverage of the laboring classes in Italy, 
or I might say of all classes ; it is, however, the 
pure blood of the grape, and although used in 
such quantities, one sees little drunkenness — far 
less than in our own land. 

Tuscany enjoys at present a more liberal gov- 
ernment than any other part of Italy, and the peo- 
ple are, in many respects, prosperous and happy. 
The Grand Duke, although enjoying almost 
absolute privileges, is disposed to encourage 
every measure which may promote the welfare 
of his subjects. The people are, indeed, very 
heavily taxed, but this is less severely felt by 
them, than it would be by the inhabitants of 
colder climes, The soil produces with little 



34G I "IE WS A -FO O T. 

labor all that is necessary for their support; 
though kept constantly in a state of compara- 
tive poverty, they appear satisfied with their lot, 
and rarely look further than the necessities of 
the present. In love with the delightful climate, 
they cherish their country, fallen as she is, and 
are rarely induced to leave her. Even the 
Avealthier classes of the Italians travel very 
little; they can learn the manners and habits of 
foreignersnearly as well in their own country as 
elsewhere, and they prefer their own hills of olive 
and vine to the icy grandeur of the Alps or the 
rich and garden-like beauty of England. 

But, although this sweet climate, with its 
wealth of sunlight and balmy airs, may enchant 
the traveller for awhile and make him wish at 
times that his whole life might be spent amid such 
scenes, it exercises a most enervating influence 
on those who are born to its enjoyment. It re- 
laxes mental and physical energy, and disposes 
body and mind to dreamy inactivity. The Ital- 
ians, as a race, are indolent and effeminate. Of 
the moral dignity of man they have little con- 
ception. Those classes who are engaged in act- 
ive occupation seem even destitute of common 
honesty, practising all kinds of deceits in the 
most open manner and apparently without the 
least shame. The state of morals is lower than 
in any other country of Europe ; what little vir- 
tue exists is found among the peasants. Many 
of the most sacred obligations of society are 
universally violated, and as a natural conse- 
quence, the people are almost entire strangers 
to that domestic happiness which constitutes 
the true enjoyment of life. 

This dark shadow in the moral atmosphere of 
Italy hangs like a curse on her beautiful soil, 
weakening the sympathies of citizens of freer 
lands with her fallen condition. I often feel viv- 
idly the sentiment which Percival puts into the 
mouth of a Greek in slavery : 



THE FLORENTINE RACES. 347 

" The spring may here with autumn twine 
And both combined may rule the year, 
And fresh-blown flowers and racy wine 

In frosted clusters still be near — 
Dearer the wild and snowy hills 
Where hale and ruddy Freedom smiles." 

No people can ever become truly great or 
free, who are not virtuous. If the soul aspires 
for liberty — pure and perfect liberty — it also as- 
pires for everything that is noble in Truth, ev- 
erything that is holy in Virtue. It is greatly to 
be feared that all those nervous and impatient 
efforts which have been made and are still being 
made by the Italian people to better their condi- 
tion, will be of little avail, until they set up a. bet- 
ter standard of principle and make their private 
actions more conformable with their ideas of 
political independence. 

Oct. 22. — I attended to-day the fall races at 
the Caserne. This is a dairy farm of the Grand 
Duke on the Arno, below the city; part of it, 
shaded with magnificent trees, has been made 
into a public promenade and drive, which ex- 
tends for three miles down the river. Towards 
the lower end, on a smooth green lawn, is the 
race-course. To-day was the last of the season, 
for w T hich the best trials had been reserved ; on 
passing out the gate at noon, we found a num- 
ber of carriages and pedestrians going the same 
way. It was the very perfection of autumn tem- 
perature, and I do not remember to have ever 
seen so blue hills, so green meadows, so fresh 
air and so bright sunshine combined in one 
scene before. All that gloom and coldness of 
which I lately complained has vanished. 

Travelling increases very much one's capacity 
for admiration. Every beautiful scene appears 
as beautiful as if it had been the first ; and al- 
though I may have seen a hundred times as 
lovely a combination of sky and landscape, the 
pleasure which it awakens is never diminished. 



348 VIEWS A FOOT. 

This is one of the greatest blessings we enjoy — 
the freshness and glory which Nature wears to 
our eyes forever. It shows that the soul never 
grows old — that the eye of age can take in the 
impression of beauty with the same enthusiastic 
joy that leaped through the heart of childhood. 

We found the crowd around the race-course 
but thin; half the people there, and all the 
horses, appeared to be English. It was a good 
place to observe the beauty of Florence, which 
however, may be done in a short time, as there 
is not much of it. There is beauty in Italy, un- 
doubtedly, but it is either among the peasants 
or the higher class of nobility. I will tell our 
American women confidentially, for I know they 
have too much sense to be vain of it, that they 
surpass the rest of the world as much in beauty 
as they do in intelligence and virtue. I saw in 
one of the carriages the wife of Alexander Du- 
mas, the Fr ench author. She is a large, fair com- 
Flexioned woman, and is now, from what cause 
know not, living apart from her husband. 

The jockeys paced up and down the fields, pre- 
paring their beautiful animals for the approach- 
ing heat, and as the hour drew nigh the mounted 
dragoons busied themselves in clearing the 
space. It was a one-mile course, to the end of 
the lawn and back. At last the bugle sounded, 
and off went three steeds like arrows let fly. 
They passed us, their light limbs bounding over 
the turf, a beautiful dark-brown taking the lead. 
We leaned over the railing and watched them 
eagerly. The bell rang — they reached the other 
end— we saw them turn and come dashing back, 
nearer, nearer ; the crowd began to shout, and 
in a few seconds the brown one had won it by 
four or five lengths. The fortunate horse was led 
around in triumph, and I saw an English lady, 
remarkable for her betting propensities, come 
out from the crowd and kiss it in apparent de- 
light. 



BIRTHPLACE OF DANTE. 349 

After an interval, three others took the field— 
all graceful, spirited creatures. This was a more 
exciting race than the first; they flew past us 
nearly abreast, and the crowd looked after them 
in anxiety. They cleared the course like wild 
deer, and in a minute or two came back, the 
racer of an English nobleman a short distance 
ahead. The jockey threw up his hand in token 
of triumph as he approached the goal, and the 
people cheered him. It was a beautiful sight to 
see those noble animals stretching to the utmost 
of their speed, as they dashed down the grassy 
lawn. The lucky one always showed by his 
proud and erect carriage, his consciousness of 
success. 

Florence is fast becoming modernized. The in- 
troduction of gas, and the construction of the 
railroad to Pisa, which is nearly completed, will 
make sad havoc with the air of poetry which 
still lingers in its silent streets. There is scarcely 
a bridge, a tower, or a street, which is not con- 
nected with some stirring association. In the 
Via San Felice, Raphael used to paint when a 
boy; near the Ponte Santa Trinita stands Mi- 
chael Angelo's house, with his pictures, clothes, 
and painting implements,, just as he left it three 
centuries ago ; on the south side of the Arno is 
the house of Galileo, and that of Machiavelli 
stands in an avenue near the Ducal Palace. 
While threading my way through some dark, 
crooked streets in an unfrequented part of the 
city, I noticed an old, untenanted house, bearing 
a marble tablet above the door. I drew near 
and read: — "In this house of the Alighieri was 
born the Divine Poet!" It was the birth-place 
of Dante ! 

Nov. 1. — Yesterday morning we were apprised 
of the safe arrival of a new scion of the royal 
family in the world by the ringing of the city 
bells. To-day, to celebrate the event, the shops 
were closed, and the people made a holiday of it. 



350 VIEWS A -FOOT. 

Merry chimes pealed out from every tower, and 
discharges of cannon thundered up from the 
fortress. In the evening the dome of the Cathe- 
dral was illuminated, and the lines of cupola, 
lantern, and cross were traced in flame on the 
dark sky, like a crown of burning stars dropped 
from Heaven on the holy pile. I went in and 
walked down the aisle, listening for awhile to the 
grand choral, while the clustered tapers under 
the dome quivered and trembled, as if shaken by 
the waves of music which burst continually 
within its lofty concave. 

A few days ago Prince Corsini, Prime Minister 
of Tuscany, died at an advanced age. I saw his 
body brought in solemn procession by night, 
with torches and tapers, to the church of Santa 
Trinita. Soldiers followed with reversed arms 
and muffled drums, the band playing a funeral 
march. I forced myself through the crowd into 
the church, which was hung with black and gold, 
and listened to the long drawn chanting of the 
priests around the bier. 

We lately visited the Florentine Museum. Be- 
sides the usual collection of objects of natural 
history, there is an anatomical cabinet, very 
celebrated for its preparations in wax. All parts 
of the human frame are represented so wonder- 
fully exact, that students of medicine pursue 
their studies here in summer with the same fa- 
cility as from real " subjects." Every bone, mus- 
cle, and nerve in the body is perfectly counter- 
feited, the whole forming a collection as curious 
as it is useful. One chamber is occupied with rep- 
resentations of the plague of Rome, Milan and 
Florence. They are executed with horrible truth 
to nature, but I regretted afterwards having 
seen them. There are enough forms of beauty 
and delight in the world on which to employ the 
eye, without making it familiar with scenes which 
can only be remembered with a shudder. 

We derive much pleasure from the society of 



AMERICANS IN FLORENCE. 351 

the American artists who are now residing in 
Florence. At the houses of Powers, and Brown, 
the painter, we spend many delightful evenings 
in the company of our gifted countrymen. They 
are drawn together by a kindred social feeling 
as well as by their mutual aims, and form 
among themselves a society so unrestrained, 
American-like, that the traveller who meets 
them forgets his absence for a time. These 
noble representatives of our country, all of 
whom possess the true, inborn spirit of repub- 
licanism, have made the American name known 
and respected in Florence. Powers, especially, 
who is intimate with many of the principal 
Italian families, is universally esteemed. The 
Grand Duke has more than once visited his 
studio and expressed the highest admiration of 
his talents. 



CHAPTER XXXVII. 

AMERICAN ART IN FLORENCE. 

I have seen Ibrahim Pacha, the son of old 
Mehemet Ali, driving in his carriage through 
the streets. He is here on a visit from Lucca, 
where he has been spending some time on ac- 
count of his health. He is a man of apparently 
fifty years of age ; his countenance wears a 
stern and almost savage look, very consistent 
with the character he bears and the political 
part he has played. He is rather portly in per- 
son, the pale olive of his complexion contrast- 
ing strongly with a beard perfectly white. In 
common with all his attendants, he wears the 
high red cap, picturesque blue tunic and narrow 
trowsers of the Egyptians. There is scarcely a 
man of them whose face with its wild, oriental 



352 VIEWS A-FOOT. 

beauty, does not show to advantage among us 
civilized and prosaic Christians. 

In Florence, and indeed through all Italy, 
there is much reason for our country to be 
proud of the high stand her artists are taking. 
The sons of our rude western clime, brought up 
without other resources than their own genius 
and energy, now fairly rival those, who from 
their cradle upwards have drawn inspiration 
and ambition from the glorious masterpieces of 
the old painters and sculptors. Wherever our 
artists are known, they never fail to create a 
respect for American talent, and to dissipate 
the false notions respecting our cultivation and 
refinement, which prevail in Europe. There are 
now eight or ten of our painters and sculptors 
in Florence, some of whom, I do not hesitate to 
say, take the very first rank among living artists. 

I have been highly gratified in visiting the 
studio of Mr. G. L. Brown, who, as a landscape 
painter, is destined to take a stand second to 
few, since the days of Claude Lorraine. He is 
now without a rival in Florence, or perhaps in 
Italy, and has youth, genius and a plentiful 
stock of the true poetic enthusiasm for his art, 
to work for him far greater triumphs. His Ital- 
ian landscapes have that golden mellowness and 
transparency of atmosphere which give such a 
charm to the real scenes, and one would think he 
used on his pallette, in addition to the more sub- 
stantial colors, condensed air and sunlight and 
the liquid crystal of streams. He has wooed 
Nature like a lover, and she has not withheld her 
sympathy. She has taught him how to raise 
and curve her trees, load their boughs with foli- 
age, and spread underneath them the broad, 
cool shadows — to pile up the shattered crag, and 
steep the long mountain range in the haze of al- 
luring distance. 

He has now nearly finished, a large painting of 
"Christ Preaching in the Wilderness," which is 



BR WN A ND RELL OGG. 353 

of surprising beauty. You look upon one of the 
fairest scenes of Judea. In front, the rude mul- 
titude are grouped on one side, in the edge of a 
magnificent forest ; on the other side, towers up 
a rough wall of rock and foliage that stretches 
back into the distance, where some grand blue 
mountains are piled against the sky, and a beau- 
tiful stream, winding through the middle of the 
picture slides away out of the foreground. Just 
emerging from the shade of one of the cliffs, is 
the benign figure of the Saviour, with the warm 
light which breaks from behind the trees, falling 
around him as he advances. There is a smaller 
picture of the "Shipwreck of St. Paul," in which 
he shows equal skill in painting a troubled sea 
and breaking storm. He is one of the young 
artists from whom we have most to hope. 

I have been extremely interested in looking 
over a great number of sketches made by Mr. 
Kellogg, of Cincinnati, during a tour through 
Egypt, Arabia Petrsea. and Palestine. He vis- 
ited many places out of the general route of trav- 
ellers, and beside the great number of landscape 
views, brought away man y sketches of the char- 
acters and costumes of the Orient. From some 
of these he has commenced paintings, which, as 
his genius is equal to his practice, will be of no 
ordinary value. Indeed , some of these must give 
him at once an established reputation in Amer- 
ica. In Constantinople, where he resided several 
months, he enjoyed peculiar advantages for the 
exercise of his art, through the favor and influ- 
ence of Mr. Carr, the American, and Sir Stratford 
Canning, the British Minister. I saw a splendid 
diamond cup, presented to him by Eiza Pacha, 
the late Grand Vizier. The sketches he brought 
from thence and from the valleys of Phrygia and 
the mountain solitudes of old Olympus, are of 
great interest and value. Among his latter 
paintings, I might mention an angel, whose 
countenance beams with a rapt and glorious 



354 VIEWS A-FOOT. 

beauty. A divine light shines through all the 
features and heightens the glow of adoration to 
an expression all spiritual and immortal. If Mr. 
Kellogg will give us a few more of these heavenly 
conceptions, we will place him on a pedestal, lit- 
tle lower than that of Guido. 

Greenough, who has been sometime in Ger- 
many, returned lately to Florence, where he has 
a colossal group in progress for the portico of 
the Capitol. I have seen part of it, which is 
nearly finished in the marble. It shows a back- 
woodsman just triumphing in the struggle with 
an Indian; another group to be added, will 
represent the wife and child of the former. The 
colossal size of the statues gives a grandeur to 
the action, as if it were a combat of Titans ; 
there is a consciousness of power, an expression 
of lofty disdain in the expansion of the hunter's 
nostril and the proud curve of his lip, that 
might become a god. The spirit of action, of 
breathing, life-like exertion, so much more diffi- 
cult to infuse into the marble than that of re- 
pose, is perfectly attained. I will not enter into 
a more particular description, as it will probably 
be sent to the United States in a year or two. 
It is a magnificent work; the best, unquestion- 
ably, that Greenough has yet made. The sub- 
ject, and the grandeur he has given it in the exe- 
cution, will ensure it a much more favorable re- 
ception than a false taste gave to his Washing- 
ton. 

Mr. C. B. Ives, a 3 7 oung sculptor from Con- 
necticut, has not disappointed the high promise 
he gave before leaving home. I was struck Avith 
some of his busts in Philadelphia, particularly 
those of Mrs. Sigourney and Joseph R. Chand- 
ler, and it has been no common pleasure to visit 
his studio here in Florence, and look on some of 
his ideal works. He has lately made two 
models, which, when finished in marble, will be 
works of great beauty. They will contribute 



AMERICAN SCULPTORS. 355 

greatly to his reputation here and in America. 
One of these represents a child of four or five 
years of age, holding in his hand a dead bird, 
on which he is gazing, with childish grief and 
wonder, that it is so still and drooping. It is a 
beautiful thought; the boy is leaning forward as 
he sits, holding the lifeless playmate close in his 
hands, his sadness touched with a vague expres- 
sion, as if he could not yet comprehend the idea 
of death. 

The other is of equal excellence, in a different 
style; it is a bust of " Jephthah's daughter," 
when the consciousness of her doom first flashes 
upon her. The Tace and bust are beautiful with 
the bloom of perfect girlhood. A simple robe 
covers her breast, and her rich hair is gathered 
up behind, and bound with a slender fillet. Her 
head, of the pure classical mould, is bent forward, 
as if weighed down by the shock, and there is a 
heavy drooping in the mouth and eyelids, that 
denotes a sudden and sickening agony. It is 
not a violent, passionate grief, but a deep and 
almost paralyzing emotion — a shock from which 
the soul will finally rebound, strengthened to 
make the sacrifice. 

Would it not be better for some scores of our 
rich merchants to lay out their money on statues 
and pictures, instead of balls and spendthrift 
sons? A few such expenditures, properly di- 
rected, would do much for the advancement of 
the fine arts. An occasional golden blessing, be- 
stowed on genius, might be returned on the 
giver, in the fame he had assisted in creating. 
There seems, however, to be at present a rapid 
increase in refined taste, and a better apprecia- 
tion of artistic talent, in our country. And as 
an American, nothing has made me feel prouder 
than this, and the steady increasing reputation 
of our artists. 

Of these, no one has done more within the last 
few years, than Powers. AVith a tireless and 
12 



356 VIEWS A- FOOT. 

persevering energy, such as could have belonged 
to few but Americans, he has already gained a 
name in his art, that posterity will pronounce in 
the same breath with Phidias, Michael Angelo 
and Thorwaldsen. I cannot describe the enjoy- 
ment I have derived from looking at his match- 
less works. I should hesitate in giving my own 
imperfect judgment of their excellence, if I had 
not found it to coincide with that of many 
others who are better versed in the rules of art. 
The sensation which his " Greek Slave" produced 
in England, has doubtless ere this been breezed 
across the Atlantic, and I see by the late Ameri- 
can papers that they are growing familiar with 
his fame. When I read a notice seven or eight 
years ago, of the young sculptor of Cincinnati, 
whose busts exhibited so much evidence of 
genius, I little dreamed I should meet him in 
Florence, with the experience of years of toil 
added to his early enthusiasm, and every day 
increasing his renown. 

You would like to hear of his statue of Eve, 
which men of taste pronounce one of the finest 
works of modern times. A more perfect figure 
never filled my eye. I have seen the masterpieces 
of Thorwaldsen, Dannecker and Canova, and 
the Venus de Medici, but I have seen nothing yet 
that can exceed the beauty of this glorious 
statue. So completely did the first view excite 
my surprise and delight, and thrill every feeling 
that awakes at the sight of the Beautiful, that 
my mind dwelt intensely on it for days after- 
wards. This is the Eve of Scripture — the Eve of 
Milton— mother of mankind and fairest of all 
her race. With the full and majestic beauty of 
ripened womanhood, she wears the purity of a 
world yet unknown to sin. With the bearing of 
a queen, there is in her countenance the softness 
and grace of a tender, loving woman ; 

" God-like erect, with native honor clad, 
In naked majesty." 



POWERS' "EVE." 357 

She holds the fatal fruit extended in her hand, 
and her face expresses the struggle between con- 
science, dread and desire. The serpent, whose 
coiled length under the leaves and flowers en- 
tirely surrounds her, thus forming a beautiful 
allegorical symbol, is watching her decision from 
an ivied trunk at her side. Her form is said to 
be fully as perfect as the Yenus de Medici, and 
from its greater size, has an air of conscious and 
ennobling dignity. The head is far superior in 
beauty, and soul speaks from every feature of 
the countenance. I add a few stanzas which 
the contemplation of this statue called forth. 
Though unworthy the subject, they may perhaps 
faintly shadow the sentiment which Powers has 
so eloquently embodied in marble : 

THE "EVE" OF POWERS. 

A faultless being from the marble sprung, 

She stands in beauty there! 
As when the grace of Eden 'round her clung — 

Fairest where all was fair! 
Pure, as when first from God's creating hand 

She came, on man to shine; 
So seems she now, in living stone to stand — 

A mortal, yet divine! 

The spark the Grecian from Olympus caught, 

Left not a loftier trace; 
The daring of the sculptor's hand has wrought 

A soul in that sweet face! 
He won as well the sacred fire from heaven, 

God-sent, not stolen down, 
And no Promethean doom for him is given, 

But ages of renown! 

The soul of beauty breathes around that form 

A more enchanting spell; 
There blooms each virgin grace, ere yet the storm 

On blighted Eden fell; 
The first desire upon her lovely brow, 

Raised by an evil power; 
Doubt, longing, dread, are in her features now— 

It is the trial- hour! 



358 VIEWS A- FOOT. 

How every thought that strives within her breast, 

In that one glance is shown! 
Say, can that heart of marble be at rest, 

Since spirit warms the stone? 
Will not those limbs, of so divine a mould, 

Move, when her thought is o'er — 
When she has yielded to the tempter's hold 

And Eden blooms no more? 

Art, like a Phoenix, springs from dust again — 

She cannot pass away ! 
Bound down in gloom, she breaks apart the chain 

And struggles up to day! 
The flame, first kindled in the ages gone, 

Has never ceased to burn, 
And -west-ward, now, appears the kindling dawn, 

Which marks the day's return! 

The "Greek Slave" is now in the possession 
of Mr. Grant, of London, and I only saw the 
clay model. Like the Eve, it is a form that one's 
eye tells him is perfect, unsurpassed; but it is 
the budding loveliness of a girl, instead of the 
perfected beauty of a woman. In England it 
has been pronounced superior to Canova's 
works, and indeed I have seen nothing of his, 
that could be placed beside it. 

Powers has now nearly finished a most ex- 
quisite figure of a fisher-boy, standing on the 
shore, with his net and rudder in one hand, 
while with the other he holds a shell to his ear 
and listens if it murmur to him of a gathering 
storm. His slight, boyish limbs are full of grace 
and delicacy — you feel that the youthful frame 
could grow up into nothing less than an Apollo. 
Then the head — how beautiful! Slightly bent 
on one side, with the rim of the shell thrust 
under his locks, lips gently parted, and the face 
wrought up to the most hushed and breathless 
expression, he listens whether the sound be 
deeper than its wont. It makes you hold your 
breath and listen, to look at it. Mrs. Jameson 
somewhere remarks that repose or suspended 
motion, should be always chosen for a statue 



POWERS. 359 

that shall present a perfect, unbroken impres- 
sion to the mind. If this be true, the enjoyment 
must be much more complete where not only the 
motion, but almost breath and thought are sus- 
pended, and all the faculties wrought into one 
hushed and intense sensation. In gazing on this 
exquisite conception, I feel my admiration filled 
to the utmost, without that painful, aching im- 
pression, so often left by beautiful works. It 
glides into my vision like a form long missed 
from the gallery of beauty I am forming in my 
mind, and I gaze on it with an ever new and in- 
creasing delight. 

Now I come to the last and fairest of all— the 
divine Proserpine. Not the form, for it is but a 
bust rising from a capital of acanthus leaves, 
which curve around the breast and arms and 
turn gracefully outward, but the face, whose 
modest maiden beauty can find no peer among 
goddesses or mortals. So looked she on the field 
of Enna? — that "fairer flower," so soon to be 
gathered by "gloomy Dis." A slender crown of 
green wheat-blades, showing alike her descent 
from Ceres and her virgin years, circles her head. 
Truly, if Pygmalion stole his fire to warm such 
a form as this, Jove should have pardoned him. 
Of Powers' busts it is unnecessary for me to 
speak. He has lately finished a very beautiful 
one of the Princess Demidoff, daughter of Jerome 
Bonaparte. 

We will soon, I hope, have the "Eve "in 
America. Powers has generously refused many 
advantageous offers for it, that he might finally 
send it home; and his country, therefore, will 
possess this statue, his first ideal work. She 
may well be proud of the genius and native en- 
ergy of her young artist, and she should repay 
them by a just and liberal encouragement. 



360 VIEWS A-FOOT. 



CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

AN ADVENTURE ON THE GREAT ST. BERNARD — 
WALKS AROUND FLORENCE. 

Nov. 9. — A few days ago I received a letter 
from my cousin at Heidelberg, describing his 
solitary walk from Genoa over the Alps, and 
through the western part of Switzerland. The 
news of his safe arrival dissipated the anxiety 
we were beginning to feel, on account of his 
long silence, while it proved that our fears con- 
cerning the danger of such a jouruey were not 
altogether groundless. He met with a startling 
adventure on the Great St. Bernard, which will 
be best described by an extract from his own 
letter : 

"Such were my impres- 
sions of Rome. But leaving the ' Eternal City,' 
I must hasten on to give you a description of 
an adventure I met with in crossing the Alps, 
omitting for the present an account of the trip 
from Rome to Genoa, and my lonely walk 
through Sardinia. When I had crossed the 
mountain range north of Genoa, the plains of 
Piedmont stretched out before me. I could see 
the snowy sides and summits of the Alps more 
than one hundred miles distant, looking like 
white, fleecy clouds on a summer day. It was a 
magnificent prospect, and I wonder not that the 
heart of the Swiss soldier, after years of absence 
in foreign service, beats with joy when he again 
looks on his native mountains. 

"As I approached nearer, the weather changed, 
and dark, gloomy clouds enveloped them, so 
that they seemed to present an impassable 



ASCENT OF ST. BERNARD. 361 

barrier to the lands beyond them. At Ivrea, I 
entered the interesting valley of Aosta. The 
whole valley, fifty miles in length, is inhabited 
by miserable looking people, nearly one half of 
them being afflicted with goitre and cretinism. 
They looked more idiotic and disgusting than 
any I have ever seen, and it was really painful 
to behold such miserable specimens of humanity 
dwelling amid the grandest scenes of nature. 
Immediately after arriving in the town of Aosta, 
situated at the upper end of the valley, I began, 
alone, the ascent of the Great St. Bernard. It 
was just noon, and the clouds on the mountains 
indicated rain. The distance from Aosta to the 
monastery or hospice of St. Bernard, is about 
twenty English miles. 

"At one o'clock it commenced raining very 
hard, and to gain shelter I went into a rude hut ; 
but it was filled with so many of those idiotic 
cretins, lying down on the earthy floor with the 
dogs and other animals, that I was glad to leave 
them as soon as the storm abated in some de- 
gree. I walked rapidly for three hours, when I 
met a traveller and his guide descending the 
mountain. I asked him in Italian the distance 
to the hospice, and he undertook to answer me 
in French, but the words did not seem to flow 
very fluently, so I said quickly, observing then 
that he was an Englishman : ' Try some other 
language, if you please, sir!' He replied in- 
stantly in his vernacular : ' You have a d — d long- 
walk before you, and you'll have to hurry to get 
to the top before night ! ' Thanking him, we 
shook hands and hurried on, he downward and 
I upward. About eight miles from the summit, 
I was directed into the wrong path by an ignor- 
ant boy who was tending sheep, and went a mile 
out of the course, towards Mont Blanc, before I 
discovered my mistake. 1 hurried back into the 
right path again, and soon overtook another 
boy ascending the mountain, who asked me if 



362 VIEWS A- FOOT. 

he might accompany me as he was alone, to 
which I of course answered, yes; but when we 
began to enter the thick clouds that covered the 
mountains, he became alarmed, and said he 
would go no farther. I tried to encourage him 
by saying we had only five miles more to climb, 
but, turning quickly, he ran down the path and 
was soon out of sight. 

"After a long and most toilsome ascent, 
spurred on as I was by the storm and the ap- 
proach of night, I saw at last through the 
clouds a little house, which I supposed might be 
a part of the monastery, but it turned out to be 
only a house of refuge, erected by the monks to 
take in travellers in extreme cases or extraordi- 
nary danger. The man who was staying there, 
told me the monastery was a mile and a half 
further, and thinking therefore that I could soon 
reach it, I started out again, although darkness 
was approaching. In a short time the storm 
began in good earnest, and the cold winds blew 
with the greatest fury. It grew dark very sud- 
denly and I lost sight of the poles which are 
placed along the path to guide the traveller. I 
then ran on still higher, hoping to find them 
again, but without success. The rain and snow 
fell thick, and although I think I am tolerably 
courageous, I began to be alarmed, for it was 
impossible to know in what direction I was go- 
ing. I could hear the waterfalls dashing and 
roaring down the mountain hollows on each 
side of me ; in the gloom, the foam and leaping 
waters resembled steaming fires. I thought of 
turning back to find the little house of refuge 
again, but it seemed quite as dangerous and un- 
certain as to go forward. After the fatigue I 
had undergone since noon, it would have been 
dangerous to be obliged to stay out all night in 
the driving storm, which was every minute in- 
creasing in coldness and intensity. 

"I stopped and shouted aloud, hoping I might 



THE MONASTERY. 363 

be somewhere near the monastery, but no answer 
came — no noise except the storm and the roar of 
the waterfalls. I climbed up the rocks nearly a 
quarter of a mile higher, and shouted again. I 
listened with anxiety for two or three minutes, 
but hearing no response, I concluded to find a 
shelter for the night under a ledge of rocks. 
While looking around me, I fancied I heard in 
the distance a noise like the trampling of hoofs 
over the rocks, and thinking travellers might be 
near, I called aloud for the third time. After 
waiting a moment, a voice came ringing on my 
ears through the clouds, like one from heaven in 
response to my own. My heart beat quickly ; I 
hurried in the direction from which the sound 
came, and to my joy found two men — servants 
of the monastery — who were driving their mules 
into shelter. Never in my whole life was I more 
glad to hear the voice of man. These men con- 
ducted me to the monastery, one-fourth of a 
mile higher, built by the side of a lake at the 
summit of the pass, while on each side, the 
mountains, forever covered with snow, tower 
some thousands of feet higher. 

"Two or three of the noble St. Bernard dogs 
barked a welcome as we approached, which 
brought a young monk to the door. I addressed 
him in German, but to my surprise he answered 
in broken English. He took me into a warm 
room and gave me a suit of clothes, such as are 
worn by the monks, for my dress, as well as my 
package of papers, were completely saturated 
with rain. I sat down to supper in company 
with all the monks of the Hospice, I in my 
monkish robe looking like one of the holy order. 
You would have laughed to have seen me in 
their costume. Indeed, I felt almost satisfied to 
turn monk, as everything seemed so comfortable 
in the warm supper room, with its blazing wood 
fire, while outside raged the storm still more 
violently. But when I thought of their volun- 



364 VIEWS A -FOOT. 

tary banishment from the world, up in that high 
pass of the Alps, and that the affection of wo- 
man uever gladdened their hearts, I was ready 
to renounce my monkish dress next morning, 
without reluctance. 

"In the address book of the monastery, I 
found Longfellow's ' Excelsior ' written on a piece 
of paper and signed 'America.' You remember 
the stanza : 

'At break of day, as heavenward, 
The pious monks of St. Bernard 
Uttered the oft-repeated prayer, 
A voice cried through the startled air: 
Excelsior!' 

It seemed to add a tenfold interest to the poem, 
to read it on old St. Bernard. In the morning I 
visited the house where are kept the bodies of the 
travellers, who perish in crossing the mountain. 
It is filled with corpses, ranged in rows, and look- 
ing like mummies, for the cold is so intense that 
they will keep for years without decaying, and 
are often recognized and removed by their 
friends. 

"Of my descent to Martigny, my walk down 
the Rhone, and along the shores of LakeLeman, 
my visit to the prison of Chillon and other wan- 
derings across Switzerland, my pleasure in seeing 
the old river Rhine again, and my return to Hei- 
delberg at night, with the bright moon shining 
on the Neckar and the old ruined castle, I can 
now say no more, nor is it necessary, for are not 
all these things, ' written in my book of Chroni- 
cles,' to be seen by you when we meet again in 
Paris? Ever yours, Frank." 

Dec. 16. — I took a walk lately to the tower of 
Galileo. In company with three friends, I left 
Florence by the Porta Romana, and ascended 
the Poggie Imperiale. This beautiful avenue, a 
mile and a quarter in length, leading up a grad- 
ual ascent to a villa of the Grand Duke, is bor- 



THE TOWER OF GALILEO. 365 

dered with splendid cypresses and evergreen 
oaks, and the grass banks are always fresh and 

freen, so that even in winter it calls up a remem- 
rance of summer. In fact, winter does not 
wear the scowl here that he has at home ; he is 
robed rather in a threadbare garment of au- 
tumn, and it is only high up on the mountain 
tops, out of the reach of his enemy, the sun, that 
he dares to throw it off, and bluster about with 
his storms and scatter down his snow-flakes. 
The roses still bud and bloom in the hedges, the 
emerald of the meadows is not a whit paler, the 
sun looks down lovingly as yet, and there are 
only the white helmets of some of the Apennines, 
with the leafless mulberries and vines, to tell us 
that we have changed seasons. 

A quarter of an hour's walk, part of it by a 
path through an olive orchard, brought us to 
the top of a hill, which was surmounted by a 
square, broken, ivied tower, forming part of a 
store-house for the produce of the estate. We 
entered, saluted by a dog, and passing through 
a court-yard, in which stood two or three carts 
full of brown olives, found our way to the rickety 
staircase. I spared my sentiment in going up, 
thinking the steps might have been renewed since 
Galileo's time, but the glorious landscape which 
opened around us when we reached the top, time 
could not change, and I gazed upon it with in- 
terest and emotion, as my eye took in those 
forms w T hich once had been mirrored in the phi- 
losopher's. Let me endeavor to describe the 
features of the scene. 

Fancy yourself lifted to the summit of a high 
hill, whose base slopes down to the valley of the 
Arno, and looking northward. Behind you is a 
confusion of hill and valley, growing gradually 
dimmer away to the horizon. Before and below 
you is a vale, with Florence and her great domes 
and towers in its lap, and across its breadth of 
five miles the mountain of Fiesole. To the west 



366 VIEWS A-FOOT. 

it stretches away unbroken for twenty miles, 
covered thickly with white villas — like a meadow 
of daisies, magnified. A few miles to the east 
the plain is rounded with mountains, between 
whose interlocking bases we can see the brown 
current of the Arno. Some of their peaks, as 
well as the mountain of Vallombrosa, along the 
eastern sky, are tipped with snow. Imagine the 
air filled with a thick blue mist, like a semi-trans- 
parent veil, which softens every thing into 
dreamy indistinctness, the sunshine falling slant- 
ingly through this in spots, touching the land- 
scape here and there as with a sudden blaze of 
fire, and you will complete the picture. Does it 
not repay your mental flight across the Atlantic? 
One evening, on coming out of the cafe, the 
moon was shining so brightly and clearly, that 
I involuntarily bent my steps towards the river ; 
I walked along the Lung' Arno, enjoying the 
heavenly moonlight — "the night of cloudless 
climes and starry skies!" A purer silver light 
never kissed the brow of Endymion. The brown 
Arno took into his breast ' ' the redundant glory," 
and rolled down his pebbly bed with a more 
musical ripple; opposite stretched the long mass 
of buildings — the deep arches that rose from the 
water were filled with black shadow, and the 
irregular fronts of the houses touched with a 
mellow glow. The arches of the upper bridge 
were in shadow, cutting their dark outline on 
the silvery sweep of the Apennines far up the 
stream. A veil of luminous gray covered the 
hill of San Miniato, with its towers and cypress 
groves, and there was a crystal depth in the 
atmosphere, as if it shone with its own light. 
The whole scene affected me as something too 
glorious to be real — painful from the very in- 
tensity of its beauty. Three moons ago, at the 
foot of Vallombrosa, I saw the Apennines flooded 
with the same silvery gush, and thought also, 
then, that I had seen the same moon amid far 



ASCENT OF MONTE MORELLO. 367 

dearer scenes, but never before the same dreamy 
and sublime glory showered down from her pale 
orb. Some solitary lights were burning along 
the river, and occasionally a few Italians passed 
by, wrapped in their mantles. I went home to 
the Piazza del Granduca as the light, pouring 
into the square from behind the old palace, fell 
over the fountain of Neptune and sheathed in 
silver the back of the colossal god. 

Whoever looks on the valley of the Arno from 
San Miniato, and observes the Apennine range, 
of which Fiesoleis one, bounding it on the north, 
will immediately notice to the northwest a 
double peak rising high above all the others. 
The bare, brown forehead of this, known by the 
name of Monte Morello, seemed so provokingly 
tc challenge an ascent, that we determined to 
try it. So we started early, the day before yes- 
terday, from the Porta San Gallo, with nothing 
but the frosty grass and fresh air to remind us 
of the middle of December. Leaving the Prato 
road, at the base of the mountain, we passed 
Careggi, a favorite farm of Lorenzo the Magnif- 
icent, and entered a narrow glen where a little 
brook was brawling down its rocky channel. 
Here and there stood a rustic mill, near which 
women were busy spreading their washed clothes 
on the grass. Following the footpath, we as- 
cended a long eminence to a chapel where some 
boys were amusing themselves with a common 
country game. They have a small wheel, around 
which they wind a rope, and, running a little dis- 
tance to increase the velocity, let it off with a 
sudden jerk. On a level road it can be thrown 
upwards of a quarter of a mile. 

From the chapel, a gradual ascent along the 
ridge of a hill brought us to the foot of the peak, 
which rose high before us, covered with bare 
rocks and stunted oaks. The wind blew coldly 
from a snowy range to the north, as we com- 
menced ascending with a good will. A few 



3<M VIEWS A-POOT. 

shepherds were leading their flocks along the 
sides, to browse on the grass and withered 
bushes, and we started up a large hare occasion- 
al^ from his leafy covert. The ascent was very 
toilsome; I was obliged to stop frequently on 
account of the painful throbbing of my heart, 
which made it difficult to breathe. When the 
summit was gained, we lay down awhile on the 
leeward side to recover ourselves. 

We looked on the great valley of the Arno, per- 
haps twenty-five miles long, and five or six broad, 
lying like a long elliptical basin sunk among the 
hills. I can liken it to nothing but a vast sea ; 
for a dense, blue mist covered the level surface, 
through which the domes of Florence rose up 
like a craggy island, while the thousands of 
scattered villas resembled ships, with spread 
sails, afloat on its surface. The sharp, cutting 
wind soon drove us down, with a few hundred 
bounds, to the path again. Three more hungry 
mortals did not dine at the Cacciatore that day. 

The chapel of the Medici, which we visited, is 
of wonderful beauty. The walls are entirely en- 
crusted with pietra dura and the most precious 
kinds of marble. The ceiling is covered with 
gorgeous frescoes by Benevenuto, a modern 
painter. Around the sides, in magnificent sar- 
cophagi of marble and jasper, repose the ashes 
of a few Cosmos and Ferdinands. I asked the 
sacristan for the tomb of Lorenzo the Magnifi- 
cent. "Oh!" said he, u he lived during the re- 
Sublic — he has no tomb; these are only for 
'ukes ! " I could not repress a sigh at the lavish 
waste of labor and treasure on this one princely 
chapel. They might have slumbered unnoted, 
like Lorenzo, if they had done as much for their 
country and Italy. 

December 19. — It is with a heavy heart, that 
I sit down to-night to make my closing note in 
this lovely city and in the journal which has re- 
corded my thoughts and impressions since leav- 



FAREWELL TO FLORENCE. 369 

ing America. I should find it difficult to analyze 
my emotions, but I know they oppress me pain- 
fully. So much rushes at once over the mind 
and heart — memories of what has passed 
through both, since I made the first note in its 
pages — alternations of hope and anxiety and 
aspiration, but never despondency — that it re- 
sembles in a manner, the closing of a life. I 
seem almost to have lived through the common 
term of a life in this short period. Much spirit- 
ual and mental experience has crowded into 
a short time the sensations of years. Pain- 
ful though some of it has been, it was still wel- 
come. Difficulty and toil give the soul strength 
to crush, in a loftier region, the passions which 
draw strength only from the earth. So long as 
we listen to the purer promptings within us, 
there is a Power invisible, though not unfelt, 
who protects us — amid the toil and tumult and 
soiling struggle, there is an eye that watches, 
ever a heart that overflows with Infinite and 
Almighty Love! Let us trust then in that 
Eternal Spirit, who pours out on us his warm 
and boundless blessings, through the channels 
of so many kindred human hearts I 



CHAPTER XXXIX. 

WINTEE TRAVELLING AMONG THE APENNINES. 

Valley of the Arno, Dec. 22.— It is a glorious 
morning after our two days' walk, through rain 
and mud, among these stormy Apennines. The 
range of high peaks, among which is the cele- 
brated monastery of Camaldoli, lie just before 
us, their summits dazzling with the new fallen 
snow. The clouds are breaking away, and a 



370 VIEWS A -FOOT. 

few rosy flushes announce the approach of the 
sun. It has rained during the night, and the 
fields are as green and fresh as on a morning in 
spring. 

We left Florence on the 20th, while citizens and 
strangers were vainly striving to catch a glimpse 
of the Emperor of Russia. He is, from some 
cause, very shy of being seen, in his journeys 
from place to place, using the greatest art and 
diligence to prevent the time of his departure and 
arrival from being known. On taking leave of 
Powers, I found him expecting the Autocrat, as 
he had signified his intention of visiting his 
studio; it was a cause of patriotic pride to 
find that crowned heads know and appreciate 
the genius of our sculptor. The sky did not 
promise much, as we set out ; when we had en- 
tered the Apennines and taken a last look of the 
lovely valley behind us, and the great dome of 
the city where we had spent four delightful 
months, it began to rain heavily. Determined 
to conquer the weather at the beginning, we 
kept on, although before many miles were passed, 
it became too penetrating to be agreeable. The 
mountains grew nearly black under the shadow 
of the clouds, and the storms swept drearily 
down their passes and defiles, till the scenery 
looked more like the Hartz than Italy. We were 
obliged to stop at Ponte Sieve and dry our 
saturated garments : when, as the rain*slackened 
somewhat, we rounded the foot of the mountain 
of Vallombrosa, above the swollen and noisy 
Arno, to the little village of Cucina. 

We entered the only inn in the place, followed 
by a crowd of wondering boys, for two such 
travellers had probably never been seen there. 
They made a blazing fire for us in the broad 
chimney, and after the police of the place satis- 
fied themselves that we were not ' dangerous 
characters, they asked many questions about 
our country. I excited the sympathy of the 



PEASANTS OF THE APENNINES. 371 

women greatly in our behalf by telling them we 
had three thousand miles of sea between us and 
our homes. They exclaimed in the most sympa- 
thising tones: "Poverini ! so far to go! — three 
thousand miles of water ! " 

The next morning we followed the right bank 
of the Arno. At Incisa, a large town on the 
river, the narrow pass broadens into a large and 
fertile plain, bordered on the north by the mount- 
ains. The snow storms were sweeping around 
their summits the whole day, and I thought of 
the desolate situation of the good monks who 
had so hospitably entertained us three months 
before. It w 7 as weary travelling ; but at Levane 
our fatigues were soon forgotten. Two or three 
peasants were sitting last night beside the blaz- 
ing fire, and w r e were amused to hear them talk- 
ing about us. I overheard one asking another 
to converse with us awhile. "Why should I 
speak to them?" said he; "they are not of our 
profession — we are swineherds, and they do not 
care to talk with us." However, his curiosity 
prevailed at last, and we had a long conversa- 
tion together. It seemed difficult for them to 
comprehend how there could be so much water 
to cross, without any land, before reaching our 
country. Finding w 7 e were going to Rome, I 
overheard one remark we were pilgrims, which 
seemed to be the general supposition, as there 
are few foot-travellers in Italy. The people said 
to one another as we passed along the road : — 
"They are making a journey of penance!" 
These peasants expressed themselves very well 
for persons of their station, but they were re- 
markably ignorant of everything beyond their 
own olive orchards and vine fields. 

Perugia, Dec. 24.— On leaving Levane, the 
morning gave a promise, and the sun winked at 
us once or twice through the broken clouds, with 
a watery eye; but our cup was not yet full. 
After crossing one or two shoulders of the range 



372 VIEWS A-FOOT. 

of hills, we descended to the great upland plain 
of Central Italy, watered by the sources of the 
Arno and the Tiber. The scenery is of a remark- 
able character. The hills appear to have been 
washed and swept by some mighty flood. They 
are worn into every shape — pyramids, castles, 
towers — standing desolate and brown, in long- 
ranges, like the ruins of mountains. The plain 
is scarred with deep gulleys, adding to the look 
of decay which accords so well with the Cyclo- 
pean relics of the country. 

A storm of hail which rolled away before us, 
disclosed the city of Arezzo, on a hill at the 
other end of the plain, its heavy cathedral 
crowning the pyramidal mass of buildings. Our 
first care was to find a good trattoria, for hunger 
spoke louder than sentiment, and then we sought 
the house where Petrarch, was born. A young 
priest showed it to us on the summit of the hill. 
It has not been changed since he lived in it. 

On leaving Florence, we determined to pursue 
the same plan as in Germany, of stopping at the 
inns frequented by the common people. They 
treated us here, as elsewhere, with great kindness 
and sympathy, and we were freed from the out- 
rageous impositions practised at the greater 
hotels. They always built a large fire to dry us, 
after our day's walk in the rain, and placing 
chairs in the hearth, which was raised several 
feet above the floor, stationed us there, like the 
giants Gog and Magog, while the children, as- 
sembled below, gazed up in open-mouthed won- 
der at our elevated greatness. They even in- 
vited us to share their simple meals with them, 
and it was amusing to hear their good-hearted 
exclamations of pity at finding we were so far 
from home. We slept in the great beds (for the 
most of the Italian beds are calculated for a 
man, wife, and four children!) without fear of 
being assassinated, and only met with banditti 
in dreams. 



A RIDE IN A CALESINO. 373 

This is a very unfavorable time of the year for 
foot-travelling. We were obliged to wait three 
or four weeks in Florence for a remittance from 
America, which not only prevented our leaving 
as soon as was desirable, but, by the additional 
expense of living, left us much smaller means 
than we required. However, through the kind- 
ness of a generous countryman, who unhesitat- 
ingly loaned us a considerable sum, we were en- 
abled to start with thirty dollars each, which, 
with care and economy, will be quite sufficient to 
take us to Paris, by way of Rome and Naples, if 
these storms do not prevent us from walking. 
Greece and the Orient, which I so ardently hoped 
to visit, are now out of the question. We walked 
till noon to-day, over the Val di Chiana to Ca- 
muscia, the last post-station in the Tuscan do- 
minions. On a mountain near it is the city of 
Cortona, still enclosed within its Cyclopean walls, 
built long before the foundation of Rome. Here 
our patience gave way, melted down by the un- 
remitting rains, and while eating dinner we made 
a bargain for a vehicle to bring us to this city. 
We gave a little more than half of what the vet- 
turino demanded, which was still an exorbitant 
price — two scudi each for a ride of thirty miles. 

In a short time we were called to take our seats ; 
I beheld with consternation a rickety, uncovered, 
two-wheeled vehicle, to which a single lean horse 
was attached. "What!" said I; "is that the 
carriage you promised ?" "You bargained for a 
c&lesino" said he, "and there it is!" adding, 
moreover, that there was nothing else in the 
place. So we clambered up, thrust our feet 
among the hay, and the machine rolled off with 
a kind of saw-mill motion, at the rate of five 
miles an hour. 

Soon after, in ascending the mountain of the 
Spelunca, a sheet of blue water was revealed 
below us — the lake of Thrasymene ! From the 
eminence around which we drove, we looked on 



374 VIEWS A-FOOT. 

the whole of its broad surface and the mountains 
which encompass it. It is a magnificent sheet of 
water, in size and shape somewhat like New York 
Bay, but the heights around it are far higher 
than the hills of Jersey or Staten Island. Three 
beautiful islands lie in it, near the eastern shore. 
While our calesmo was stopped at the papal 
custom-house, I gazed on the memorable field 
below us. A crescent plain, between the mount- 
ain and the lake, was the arena where two 
mighty empires met in combat. The place seems 
marked by nature for the scene of some great 
event. I experienced a thrilling emotion, such as 
no battle plain has excited, since, when a school- 
boy, I rambled over the field of Brandywine. I 
looked through the long arcades of patriarchal 
olives, and tried to cover the field with the shad- 
ows of the Roman and Carthaginian myriads. 
I recalled the shock of meeting legions, the clash 
of swords and bucklers, and the waving stand- 
ards amid the dust of battle, while stood on the 
mountain amphitheatre, trembling and invisible, 
the protecting deities of Rome. 

" Far other scene is Thrasymene now!" 

We rode over the plain, passed through the 
dark old town of Passignano, built on a rocky 
point by the lake, and dashed along the shore. 
A dark, stormy sky bent over us, and the roused 
waves broke in foam on the rocks. The winds 
whistled among the bare oak boughs, and shook 
the olives till they twinkled all over. The vet- 
turino whipped our old horse into a gallop, and 
we were borne on in unison with the scene, which 
would have answered for one of Hoffman's wild- 
est stories. 

Ascending a long hill, we took a last look in 
the dusk at Thrasymene, and continued our jour- 
ney among the Apennines. The vetturino was 
to have changed horses at Magione, thirteen 



A MOUNTAIN STORM. 375 

miles from Perugia, bat there were none to be had 
and our poor beast was obliged to perform the 
w hole j ourney without rest or food . It grew very 
dark, and a storm, with thunder and lightning, 
swept among the hills . The clouds were of pitchy 
darkness, and we could see nothing beyond the 
road, except the lights of peasant-cottages trem- 
bling through the gloom. Now and then a flash 
of lightning revealed the black masses of the 
mountains, on which the solid sky seemed to 
rest. The wind and cold rain swept wailing past 
us, as if an evil spirit were abroad on the dark- 
ness. Three hours of such nocturnal travel 
brought us here, wet and chilly, as well as our 
driver, but I pitied the poor horse more than 
him. 

When we looked out the window, on awaking, 
the clustered house-tops of the city, and the sum- 
mits of the mountains near were covered with 
snow. But on walking to the battlements we 
saw that the valleys below were green and un- 
touched . Perugia, for its ' ' pride of place, ' ' must 
endure the storms, while the humbler villages 
below escape them. As the rain continues, we 
have taken seats in a country diligence for Fo- 
ligno and shall depart in a few minutes. 

Dec. 28. — We left Perugia in a close but cov- 
ered vehicle, and descending the mountain, 
crossed the muddy and rapid Tiber in the valley 
below. All day we rode slowly among the hills ; 
where the ascent was steep, two or four large 
oxen were hitched before the horses. I saw little 
of the scenery, for our Italian companions would 
not bear the windows open. Once, when we 
stopped, I got out and found we were in the re- 
gion of snow, at the foot of a stormy peak, 
which towered sublimely above. At dusk, we 
entered Foligno, and were drn^en to the "Croce 
Bianca" — glad to be thirty miles further on our 
way to Rome. 

After some discussion with a vetturino, who 



m VIEWS A- FOOT. 

was to leave next morning, we made a contract 
with him for the remainder of the journey, for 
the rain, which fell in torrents, forbade all 
thought of pedestrianism . At five o'clock we 
rattled out of the gate, and drove by the wan- 
ing moon and morning starlight, down the vale 
of the Clitumnus. As the dawn stole on, I 
watched eagerly the features of the scene. In- 
stead of a narrow glen, as my fancy had pictured, 
we were in a valley several miles broad, covered 
with rich orchards and fertile fields. A glorious 
range of mountains bordered it on the north, 
looking like Alps in their winter garments. A 
rosy flush stole over the snow, which kindled 
with the growing morn, till they shone like 
clouds that float in the sunrise. The Clitum- 
nus, beside us, was the purest of streams. The 
heavy rains which had fallen, had not soiled in 
the least its limpid crystal. 

When it grew light enough, I looked at our 
companions for the three days' journey. The 
two other inside seats were occupied by a trades- 
man of Trieste, with his wife and child; an old 
soldier, and a young dragoon going to visit his 
parents after seven years' absence, occupied the 
front part. Persons travelling together in a 
carriage are not long in becoming acquainted — 
close companionship soon breeds familiarity. 
Before night, I had made a fast friend of the 
young soldier, learned to bear the perverse 
humor of the child with as much patience as its 
father, and even drawn looks of grim kindness 
from the crusty old vetturino. 

Oar mid-day resting place was Spoleto. As 
there were two hours given us, we took a ramble 
through the city, visited the ruins of its Roman 
theatre and saw the gate erected to commem- 
orate the victory gained here over Hannibal, 
which stopped his triumphal march towards 
Rome. A great part of the afternoon was spent 
in ascending among the defiles of Monte Somma, 



THE VALLET OF TERN I. 377 

the highest pass on the road between Ancona 
and Rome. Assisted by two yoke of oxen we 
slowly toiled up through the snow, the mount- 
ains on both sides covered with thickets of box 
and evergreen oaks, among whose leafy screens 
the banditti hide themselves. It is not considered 
dangerous at present, but as the dragoons who 
used to patrol this pass have been sent off to 
Bologna, to keep down the rebellion, the rob- 
bers will probably return to their old haunts 
again. We saw many suspicious looking cov- 
erts, where they might have hidden. 

We slept at Terni and did not see the falls — 
not exactly on Wordsworth's principle of leav- 
ing Yarrow "unvisited," but because under the 
circumstances, it was impossible. The vetturino 
did not arrive there till after dark; he was to 
leave before dawn ; the distance was five miles, 
and the roads very bad. Besides, we had seen 
falls quite as grand, which needed only a Byron 
to make them as renowned — we had been told 
that those of Tivoli, which we shall see, were 
equally fine. The Velino, which we crossed near 
Terni, was not a large stream — in short, we 
hunted as many reasons as we could find, why 
the falls need not be seen. 

Leaving Terni before day, we drove up the 
long vale towards Narni. The roads were frozen 
hard; the ascent becoming more difficult, the 
vetturino was obliged to stop at a farm-house 
and get another pair of horses, with which, and 
a handsome young contadino as postillion, we 
reached Narni in a short time. In climbing the 
hill, we had a view of the whole valley of Terni, 
shut in on all sides by snow-crested Apennines, 
and threaded by the Nar, whose waters flow 
"with many windings, through the vale!" 

At Otricoli, while dinner was preparing, I 
walked around the crumbling battlements to 
look down into the valley and trace the far 
windings of the Tiber. In rambling through the 



378 VIEWS A- FOOT. 

crooked streets, we saw everywhere the remains 
of the splendor which this place boasted in the 
days of Rome. Fragments of fluted pillars 
stood here and there in the streets ; large blocks 
of marble covered with sculpture and inscrip- 
tions were built into the houses, defaced statues 
used as door-ornaments, and the stepping-stone 
to our rude inn, worn every day by the feet of 
grooms and vetturini, contained some letters of 
an inscription which may have recorded the 
glory of an emperor. 

Travelling with a vetturino, is unquestionably 
the pleasantest way of seeing Italy. The easy 
rate of the journey allows time for becoming 
well acquainted with the country, and the 
tourist is freed from the annoyance of quarrel- 
ling with cheating landlords. A translation of 
our written contract, will best explain this mode 
of travelling : 

"Carriage for Rome. 

"Our contract is, to be conducted to Rome 
for the sum of twenty francs each, say 20f. and 
the buona mano, if we are well served. We 
must have from the vetturino, Giuseppe Ner- 
piti, supper each night, a free chamber with two 
beds, and fire, until we shall arrive at Rome. 

"I, Geronymo Sartarelli, steward of the Inn 
of the White Cross, at Foligno, in testimony of 
the above contract." 

Beyond Otricoli, we passed through some 
relics of an age anterior to Rome. A few T soiled 
masses of masonry, black with age, stood 
along the brow of the mountain, on whose ex- 
tremity were the ruins of a castle of the middle 
ages. We crossed the Tiber on a bridge built 
by Augustus Csesar, and reached Borghetto as 
the sun was gilding with its last rays the ruined 
citadel above. As the carriage with its four 



MONTE SORACTE. 379 

horses was toiling slowly up the hill, we got out 
and walked before, to gaze on the green mead- 
ows of the Tiber. 

On descending from Narni, I noticed a high, 
prominent mountain, whose ridgy back, some- 
what like the profile of a face, reminded me of 
the Traunstein, in Upper Austria. As we ap- 
proached, its form gradually changed, until it 
stood on the Campagna 

" Like a long-swept wave about to break, 
That on the curl hangs pausing " — 

and by that token of a great bard, I recognized 
Monte Soracte. The dragoon took us by the 
arms, and away we scampered over the Cam- 
pagna, with one of the loveliest sunsets before 
us, that ever painted itself on my retina. I 
cannot portray in words the glory that flooded 
the whole western heaven. It was like a sea of 
melted ruby, amethyst and topaz — deep, daz- 
zling and of crystal transparency. The color 
changed in tone every few minutes, till in half 
an hour it sank away before the twilight to a 
belt of deep orange along the west. 

We left Civita Castellana before daylight. 
The sky was red with dawn as we approached 
Nepi, and we got out to walk, in the clear, 
frosty air. A magnificent Eoman aqueduct, 
part of it a double row of arches, still supplies 
the town with water. There is a deep ravine, 
appearing as if rent in the ground by some con- 
vulsion, on the eastern side of the city- A clear 
stream that steals through the arches of the 
aqueduct, falls in a cascade of sixty feet down 
into the chasm, sending up constant wreaths of 
spray through the evergreen foliage that clothes 
the rocks. In walking over the desolate Cam- 
pagna, we saw many deep chambers dug in the 
earth, used by the charcoal burners ; the air was 
filled with sulphureous exhalations, very offen- 



380 VIEWS A -FOOT. 

sive to the smell, which rose from the ground in 
many places. 

Miles and miles of the dreary waste, covered 
only with flocks of grazing sheep, were passed, 
— and about noon we reached Baccano, a small 
post station, twenty miles from Rome. A long 
hill rose before us, and we sprang out of the 
carriage and ran ahead, to see Rome from its 
summit. As we approached the top, the Cam' 
pagna spread far before and around us, level and 
blue as an ocean. I climbed up a high bank by 
the roadside, and the whole scene came in view. 
Perhaps eighteen miles distant rose the dome of 
St. Peter's, near the horizon — a small spot on 
the vast plain. Beyond it and further east, 
were the mountains of Albano — on our left 
Soracte and the Apennines, and a blue line 
along the west betrayed the Mediterranean. 
There was nothing peculiarly beautiful or sub- 
lime in the landscape, but few other scenes on 
earth combine in one glance such a myriad of 
mighty associations, or bewilder the mind with 
such a crowd of confused emotions. 

As we approached Rome, the dragoon, with 
whom we had been walking all day, became 
anxious and impatient. He had not heard from 
his parents for a long time, and knew not if they 
were living. His desire to be at the end of his 
journey finally became so great, that he hailed 
a peasant who was driving by in a light vehicle, 
left our slow carriage and went out of sight 
in a gallop. 

As we descended to the Tiber in the dusk of 
evening, the domes and spires of Rome came 
gradually into view, St. Peter's standing like a 
mountain in the midst of them. Crossing the 
yellow river by the Ponte Molle, two miles of 
road, straight as an arrow, lay before us, with 
the light of the Porta, del Popolo at the end. I 
felt strangely excited as the old vehicle rumbled 
through the arch, and we entered a square with 



ENTRANCE INTO ROME. 381 

fountains and an obelisk of Egyptian granite in 
the centre. Delivering up our passports, we 
waited until the necessary examinations were 
made, and then went forward. Three streets 
branch out from the square, the middle one 
of which, leading directly to the Capitol, is the 
Corso, the Roman Broadway. Our vetturino 
chose that to tha left, the Via della Scrofa, lead- 
ing off toward the bridge of St. Angelo. I 
looked out the windows as we drove along, but 
saw nothing except butcher-shops, grocer-stores, 
etc. — horrible objects for a sentimental traveller! 

Being emptied out on the pavement at last, 
our first care was to find rooms ; after searching 
through many streets, with a coarse old Italian 
who spoke like an angel, we arrived at a square 
where the music of a fountain was heard through 
the dusk and an obelisk cut out some of the star- 
light. At the other end I saw a portico through 
the darkness, and my heart gave a breathless 
bound on recognizing the Pantheon — the match- 
less temple of Ancient Rome ! And now while I 
am wiiting, I hear the gush of the fountain — and 
if I step to the window, I see the time-worn but 
still glorious edifice. 

On returning for our baggage, we met the 
funeral procession of the Princess Altieri. Priests 
in white and gold carried flaming torches, and 
the coffin, covered with a magnificent golden 
pall, was borne in a splendid hearse, guarded by 
four priests. As we were settling our account 
with the vetturino, who demanded much more 
buona mano than we were willing to give, the 
young dragoon returned. He was greatly 
agitated. "I have been at home!" said he, in a 
voice trembling with emotion. I was about to 
ask him further concerning his family, but he 
kissed and embraced us warmly and hurriedly, 
saying he had only come to say"addio!" 
and to leave us. I stop writing to ramble 
through Rome. This city of all cities to me — 



382 VIEWS A- FOOT. 

this dream of my boyhood— gi ant, god-like, 
fallen Rome — is around me, and I revel in a glow 
of anticipation and exciting thought that seems 
to change my whole state of being. 



CHAPTER XL. 

ROME. 

Deo. 29. — One day's walk through Rome— how 
shall I describe it? The Capitol, the Forum, St. 
Peter's, the Coliseum — what few hours' ramble 
ever took in places so hallowed by poetry, his- 
tory and art? It was a golden leaf in my cal- 
endar of life. In thinking over it now, and 
drawing out the threads of recollection from the 
varied woof of thought I have woven to-day, I 
almost wonder how I dared so much at once ; 
but within reach of them all, how was it possi- 
ble to wait ? Let me give a sketch of our day's 
ramble. 

Hearing that it was better to visit the ruins 
by evening or moonlight, (alas! there is no moon 
now) we started out to hunt St. Peter's. Going 
in the direction of the Corso, we passed the 
ruined front of the magnificent Temple of Anto- 
ninus, now used as the Papal Custom House. 
We turned to the right on entering the Corso, 
expecting to have a view of the city from the 
hill at its southern end. It is a magnificent 
street, lined with palaces and splendid edifices of 
every kind, and always filled with crowds of car- 
riages and people. On leaving it, however, we 
became bewildered among the narrow streets — 
passed through a market of vegetables, crowded 
with beggars and contadini— threaded many by- 
ways between dark old buildings— saw one or 



A DAT'S RAMBLE IN ROME. 383 

two antique fountains and many modern 
churches, and finally arrived at a hill. 

We ascended many steps, and then descending 
a little towards the other side, saw suddenly 
below us the Roman Forum ! I knew it at once 
— and those three Corinthian columns that stood 
near us — what could they be but the remains of 
the temple of Jupiter Stator? We stood on the 
Capitoline Hill ; at the foot was the Arch of Septi- 
mus Severus, brown with age and shattered ; near 
it stood the majestic front of the Temple of 
Fortune, its pillars of polished granite glistening 
in the sun, as if they had been erected yesterday, 
while on the left the rank grass was waving from 
the arches and mighty walls of the Palace of 
the Caesars ! In front, ruin upon ruin lined the 
way for half a mile, where the Coliseum towered 
grandly through the blue morning mist, at the 
base of the Esquiline Hill ! 

Good heavens, what a scene ! Grandeur, such 
as the w T orld never saw, once rose through that 
blue atmosphere; splendor inconceivable, the 
spoils of a world, the triumphs of a thousand 
armies had passed over that earth ; minds which 
for ages moved the ancient world had thought 
there, and words of power and glory, from the 
lips of immortal men, had been syllabled on that 
hallowed air. To call back all this on the very 
spot, while the wreck of what once was, rose 
mouldering and desolate around, aroused a 
sublimity of thought and feeling too powerful 
for words. 

Returning at hazard through the streets, we 
came suddenly upon the column of Trajan, 
standing in an excavated square below the level 
of the city, amid a number of broken granite 
columns, which formed part of the Forum dedi- 
cated to him by Rome, after the conquest of 
Dacia. The column is one hundred and thirty- 
two feet high, and entirely covered with bas- 
reliefs representing his victories, winding about 



381 VIEWS A- FOOT. 

it in a spiral line to the top. The number of 
figures is computed at two thousand five hun- 
dred, and they were of such excellence that 
Raphael used many of them for his models. 
They are now much defaced, and the column is 
surmounted by a statue of some saint. The 
inscription on the pedestal has been erased, and 
the name of Sixtus V. substituted. Nothing- 
can exceed the ridiculous vanity of the old popes 
in thus mutilating the finest monuments of 
ancient art. You cannot look upon any relic of 
antiquity in Rome, but your eyes are assailed 
by the words "Pontifex Maximus," in staring 
modern letters. Even the magnificent bronzes 
of the Pantheon were stripped to make the 
baldachin under the dome of St. Peter's. 

Finding our way back again, we took a fresh 
start, happily in the right direction, and after 
walking some time, came out on the Tiber, at 
the Bridge of St. Angelo. The river rolled below 
in his muddy glory, and in front, on the opposite 
bank, stood "the pile which Hadrian reared on 
high " — now, the Castle of St. Angelo. Knowing 
that St. Peter's was to be seen from this bridge, 
I looked about in search of it. There was only 
one dome in sight, large and of beautiful propor- 
tions. I said at once, "surely that cannot be St. 
Peter's ! " On looking again, however, I saw the 
top of a massive range of building near it, which 
corresponded so nearly with the pictures of the 
Vatican, that I was unwillingly forced to believe 
the mighty dome was really before me. I recog- 
nized it as one of those we saw from the Capitol, 
but it appeared so much smaller when viewed from 
a greater distance, that I was quite deceived. On 
considering we were still three-fourths of a mile 
from it, and that we could see its minutest parts 
distinctly, the illusion was explained. 

Going directly down the Borgo Vecchio, to- 
wards it, it seemed a long time before we arrived 
at the square of St. Peter's ; when at length we 



ST. PETER'S. 385 

stood in front with the majestic colonnade 
sweeping around — the fountains on each side 
sending up their showers of silvery spray — the 
mighty obelisk of Egyptian granite piercing the 
sky — and beyond, the great front and dome of 
the Cathedral, I confessed my un mingled admira- 
tion. It recalled to my mind the grandeur of 
ancient Rome, and mighty as her edifices must 
have been, I doubt if there were many views 
more overpowering than this. The facade of St. 
Peter's seemed close to us, but it was a third of 
a mile distant, and the people ascending the 
steps dwindled to pigmies. 

I passed the obslisk, went up the long ascent, 
crossed the portico, pushed aside the heavy 
leathern curtain at the entrance, and stood in 
the great nave. I need not describe my feelings 
at the sight, but I will tell the dimensions, and 
you may then fancy what they were. Before me 
was a marble plain six hundred feet long, and 
under the cross four hundred and seventeen feet 
wide! One hundred and fifty feet above, sprang 
a glorious arch, dazzling with inlaid gold, and 
in the centre of the cross there were four hundred 
feet of air between me and the top of the dome ! 
The sunbeam, stealing through the lofty window 
at one end of the transept, made a bar of light 
on the blue air, hazy with incense, one-tenth of a 
mile long, before it fell on the mosaics and gilded 
shrines of the other extremity. The grand 
cupola alone, including lantern and cross, is two 
hundred and eighty-five feet high, or sixty feet 
higher than the Bunker Hill Monument, and the 
four immense pillars on which it rests are each 
one hundred and thirty-seven feet in circumfer- 
ence ! It seems as if human art had outdone 
itself in producing this temple — the grandest 
which the world ever erected for the worship of 
the Living God ! The awe felt at looking up at 
the giant arch of marble and gold, did not hum- 
ble me; on the contrary, I felt exalted, ennobled 



386 VIEWS A- FOOT. 

— beings in the form I wore planned the glorious 
edifice, and it seemed that in godlike power and 
perseverance, they were indeed but "a little 
lower than the angels!" I felt that, if fallen, 
my race was still mighty and immortal. 

The Vatican is only open twice a week, on 
days which are not test as; most fortunately, to- 
day happened to be one of these, and we took a 
run through its endless halls. The extent and 
magnificence of the gallery of sculpture is per- 
fectly amazing. The halls, which are filled to 
overflowing with the finest works of ancient art, 
would, if placed side by side, make a row more 
than two miles in length! You enter at once 
into a hall of marble, with a magnificent arched 
ceiling, a third of a mile long ; the sides are cov- 
ered for a great distance with inscriptions of 
every kind, divided into compartments accord- 
ing to the era of the empire to which they refer. 
One which I examined, appeared to be a kind of 
index of the roads in Italy, with the towns on 
them ; and we could decipher on that time-worn 
block, the very route I had followed from Flor- 
ence hither. 

Then came the statues, and here I am bewil- 
dered, how to describe them. Hundreds upon 
hundreds of figures — statues of citizens, generals, 
emperors and gods — fauns, satyrs and nymphs 
— children, cupids and tritons — in fact, it seemed 
inexhaustible. Many of them, too, were forms 
of matchless beauty; there were Venuses and 
nymphs, born of the loftiest dreams of grace; 
fauns on whose faces shone the very soul of 
humor, and heroes and divinities with an air of 
majesty worthy the "land of lost gods and god- 
like men! " 

I am lost in astonishment at the perfection of 
art attained by the Greeks and Komans. There 
is scarcely a form of beauty, that has ever met 
my eye, which is not to be found in this gallery. 
I should almost despair of such another blaze 



GALLERY OF THE VATICAN. 387 

of glory on the world, were it not my devout 
belief that what has been done may be done 
again, and had I not faith that the dawn in 
which we live will bring another day equally 
glorious. And why should not America, with 
the experience and added wisdom which three 
thousand years have slowly yielded to the old 
world, joined to the giant energy of her youth, 
and freedom, re-bestow on the world the divine 
creations of art? Let Powers answer ! 

But let us step on to the hemicycle of the Bel- 
videre, and view some works greater than any we 
have yet seen, or even imagined. The adjoining 
gallery is filled with masterpieces of sculpture, 
but we will keep our eyes unwearied and merely 
glance along the rows. At length we reach a cir- 
cular court with a fountain flinging up its waters 
in the centre. Before us is an open cabinet; 
there is a beautiful, manly form within, but you 
would not for an instant take it for the Apollo. 
By the Gorgon head it holds aloft, we recognize 
Canova's Perseus — he has copied the form and 
attitude of the Apollo, but he could not breathe 
into it the same warming fire. It seemed to me 

Sarticularly lifeless, and I greatly preferred his 
oxers, who stand on either side of it. One, who 
has drawn back in the attitude of striking, looks 
as if he could fell an ox with a single blow of his 
powerful arm. The other is a more lithe and 
agile figure, and there is a quick fire in his coun- 
tenance which might overbalance the massive 
strength of his opponent. 

Another cabinet—this is the far-famed Antin- 
ous. A countenance of perfect Grecian beauty, 
with a form such as we would imagine for one of 
Homer's heroes. His features are in repose, and 
there is something in their calm, settled expres- 
sion, strikingly like life. 

Now we look on a scene of the deepest physical 
agony. Mark how every muscle of old^ Lao- 
coon's body is distended to the utmost in the 

13 



888 VIEWS A-FOOT. 

mighty struggle ! What intensity of pain in the 
quivering, distorted features! Every nerve, 
which despair can call into action, is excited in 
one giant effort, and a scream of anguish seems 
just to have quivered on those marble lips. The 
serpents have rolled their strangling coils around 
father and sons, but terror has taken away the 
strength of the latter, and they make but feeble 
resistance. After looking with indifference on 
the many casts of this group, I was the more 
mOved by the magnificent original. It deserves 
all the admiration that has been heaped upon it. 

I absolutely trembled on approaching the cab- 
inet of the Apollo. I had built up in fancy a 
glorious ideal, drawn from all that bards have 
sung or artists have rhapsodized about its di- 
vine beauty. I feared disappointment — I dreaded 
to have my ideal displaced and my faith in the 
power of human genius overthrown by a form 
less than perfect. However, with a feeling of 
desperate excitement, I entered and looked 
upon it. 

Now what shall I say of it? How make you 
comprehend its immortal beauty? To what 
shall I liken its glorious perfection of form, or 
the fire that imbues the cold marble with the 
soul of a god ? Not with sculpture, for it stands 
alone and above all other works of art — nor 
with men, for it has a majesty more than human. 
I gazed on it, lost in wonder and joy— joy that I 
could, at last, take into my mind a faultless 
ideal of godlike, exalted manhood. The figure 
appears actually to possess a spirit, and I looked 
on it, not as a piece of marble, but a being of 
loftier mould, and half expected to see him step 
forward when the arrow had reached its mark. 
I would give worlds to feel one moment the 
sculptor's mental triumph when his work was 
completed; that one exulting thrill must have 
repaid him for every ill he might have suffered 
on earth ! With what divine inspiration has he 



i RAPHAEL'S "TRANSFIGURATION." 389 

wrought its faultless lines ! There is a spirit in 
every limb which mere toil could not have given. 
It must have been caught in those lofty moments 

" When each conception was a heavenly guest — 
i , • A ray of immortality — and stood 

Star-like, around, until they gathered to a god?" 

We ran through a series of halls, roofed with 
golden stars on a deep blue, midnight sky, and 
failed with porphyry vases, black marble gods, 
and mummies. Some of the statues shone with 
the matchless polish they had received from a 
Theban artisan before Athens was founded, and 
are, apparently, as fresh and perfect as when 
looked upon by the vassals of Sesostris. Not- 
withstanding their stiff, rough-hewn limbs, there 
were some figures of great beauty, and they gave 
me a much higher idea of Egyptian sculpture. 
In an adjoining hall, containing colossal busts 
of the gods, is a vase forty-one feet in circumfer- 
ence, of one solid block of red porphyry. 

The "Transfiguration" is truly called the 
first picture in tne world. The same glow of 
inspiration which created the Belvidere, must 
have been required to paint the Saviour's aerial 
form. The three figures hover above the earth 
in a blaze of glory, seemingly independent of all 
material laws. The terrified Apostles on the 
mount, and the wondering group below, corre- 
spond in the grandeur of their expression to the 
awe and majesty of the scene. The only blemish 
in the sublime perfection of the picture is the 
introduction of the two small figures on the left 
hand ; who, by-the-bye, were Cardinals, inserted 
there by command. Some travellers say the 
color is all lost, but I was agreeably surprised 
to find it well preserved. It is, undoubtedly, 
somewhat imperfect in this respect, as Raphael 
died before it was entirely finished ; but "take it 
all in all," you may search the world in vain to 
find its equal. 



390 VIEWS A -FOOT. . 

January 1, 1846.— New Year's Day in the 
Eternal City ! It will be something to say in 
after years, that I have seen one year open in 
Borne — that, while my distant friends were mak- 
ing up for the winter without, with good cheer 
around the merry board, I have walked in 
sunshine by the ruins of the Coliseum, watched 
the orange groves gleaming with golden fruitage 
in the Farnese gardens, trodden the daisied 
meadow around the sepulchre of Caius Cestius, 
and mused by the graves of Shelley, Keats and 
Salvator Rosa ! The Palace of the Caesars looked 
even more mournful in the pale, slant sunshine, 
and the yellow Tiber, as he flowed through the 
"marble wilderness," seemed sullenly counting up 
the long centuries during which degenerate 
slaves have trodden his banks. A leaden-colored 
haze clothed the seven hills, and heavy silence 
reigned among the ruins, for all work was 
prohibited, and the people were gathered in 
their churches. Rome never appeared so des- 
olate and melancholy as to-day. 

In the morning I climbed the Quirinal Hill, now 
called Monte Cavallo, from the colossal statues 
of Castor and Pollux, with their steeds, supposed 
to be the work of Phidias and Praxiteles. 
They stand on each side of an obelisk of Egyptian 
granite, beside which a strong stream of water 
gushes up into a magnificent bronze basin, 
found in the old Forum. The statues, entirely 
browned by age, are considered masterpieces of 
Grecian art, and whether or not from the great 
masters, show in all their proportions, the con- 
ceptions of lofty genius. 

We kept on our way between gardens filled 
with orange groves, whose glowing fruit reminded 
me of Mignon's beautiful reminiscence — "Im 
dunkeln Laub die Gold Orangen gluhn ! ' ' Rome, 
although subject to cold winds from the Apen- 
nines, enjoys so mild a climate that oranges and 
palm trees grow in the open air, without 



GRA VES OF SHELLET AJSfD KEA TS. 391 

protection. Daisies and violets bloom the whole 
winter, in the meadows of never-fading green. 
The basilic of the Lateran equals St. Peter's in 
splendor, though its size is much smaller. The 
walls are covered with gorgeous hangings of 
velvet embroidered with gold, and before the 
high altar, which glitters with precious stones, 
are four pillars of gilt bronze, said to be those 
which Augustus made of the spars of Egyptian 
vessels captured at the battle of Actium. 

We descended the hill to the Coliseum, and 
passing under the Arch of Constantine, walked 
along the ancient triumphal way, at the foot of 
the Palatine Hill, which is entirely covered with 
the ruins of the Caesars' Palace. A road, round- 
ing its southern base toward the Tiber, brought 
us to the Temple of Vesta — a beautiful little 
relic which has been singularly spared by the 
devastations that have overthrown so many 
mightier fabrics. It is of circular form, sur- 
rounded by nineteen Corinthian columns, thirty- 
six feet in height ; a clumsy tiled roof now takes 
the place of the elegant cornice which once gave 
the crowning charm to its perfect proportions. 
Close at hand are the remains of the temple of 
Fortuna Virilis, of which some Ionic pillars alone 
are left, and the house of Cola diRienzi — the last 
Tribune of Rome. 

As we approached the walls, the sepulchre of 
Caius Cestius came in sight — a single solid pyra- 
mid, one hundred feet in height. The walls are 
built against it, and the light *apex rises far 
above the massive gate beside it, which was 
erected by Belisarius. But there w r ere other 
tombs at hand, for which we had more sympa- 
thy than that of the forgotten Roman, and we 
turned away to look for the graves of Shelley 
and Keats. 

They lie in the Protestant burying ground, on 
the side of a mound that slopes gently up to the 
old wall of Rome, beside the pyramid of Og- 



392 VIEWS A .FOOT. 

tins. The meadow around is still verdant and 
sown thick with daisies, and the soft green of 
the Italian pine mingles with the dark cypress 
above the slumberers. Huge aloes grow in the 
shade, and the sweet bay and bushes of rose- 
mary make the air fresh and fragrant. There is 
a solemn, mournful beauty about the place, 
green and lonely as it is, beside the tottering 
walls of ancient Rome, that takes away the 
gloomy associations of death, and makes one 
wish to lie there, too, when his thread shall be 
spun to the end. 

We found first the simple head-stone of Keats, 
alone, in the grassy meadow. Its inscription 
states that on his death-bed, in the bitterness 
of his heart, at the malice of his enemies, he de- 
sired these words to be written on his tomb- 
stone: "Here lies one whose name was written 
in water." Not far from him reposes the son of 
Shelley. 

Shelley himself lies at the top of the shaded 
slope, in a lonely spot by the wall, surrounded 
by tall cypresses. A little hedge of rose and bay 
surrounds his grave, which bears the simple in- 
scription— "Percy Bysshe Shelley; Cor Cor- 
dium" 

" Nothing of him that doth fade, 
But doth suffer a sea-change 
Into something rich and strange." 

Glorious, but misguided Shelley! He sleeps 
calmly now fn that silent nook, and the air 
around his grave is filled with sighs from those 
who mourn that the bright, erratic star should 
have been blotted out ere it reached the zenith 
of its mounting fame. I plucked a leaf from the 
fragrant bay, as a token of his fame, and a sprig 
of cypress from the bough that bent lowest over 
his grave ; and passing between tombs shaded 
with blooming roses or covered with unwithered 
garlands, left the lovely spot. 



THE RUINS OF ROME. 393 

Amid the excitement of continually changing 
scenes, I have forgotten to mention our first 
visit to the Coliseum. The day after our arrival 
we set out with two English friends, to see it by 
sunset. Passing by the glorious fountain of 
Trevi, we made our way to the Forum, and 
from thence took the road to the Coliseum, lined 
on both sides with the remains of splendid 
edifices. The grass-grown ruins of the Palace 
of the Caesars stretched along on our right; on 
our left we passed in succession the granite front 
of the Temple of Antoninus and Faustina, the 
three grand arches of the Temple of Peace and 
the ruins of the Temple of Venus and Rome. 
We went under the ruined triumphal arch of 
Titus, with broken friezes representing the tak- 
ing of Jerusalem, and the mighty w r alls of the 
Coliseum gradually rose before us. They grew 
in grandeur as we approached them, and when 
at length we stood in the centre, with the 
shattered arches and grassy walls rising above 
and beyond one another, far around us, the red 
light of sunset giving them a soft and melan- 
choly beauty, I was fain to confess that another 
form of grandeur had entered my mind, of 
which I before knew not. 

A majesty like that of nature clothes this won- 
derful edifice. Walls rise above walls, and 
arches above arches, from every side of the 
grand arena, like a sweep of craggy, pinnacled 
mountains around an oval lake. The two outer 
circles have almost entirely disappeared, torn 
away by the rapacious nobles of Home, during 
the middle ages, to build their palaces. When 
entire, and filled with its hundred thousand 
spectators, it must have exceeded any pageant 
which the world can now produce. No wonder 
it was said — 

" While stands the Coliseum, Rome shall stand; 
When falls the Coliseum, Rome shall fall; 
And when Rome falls, the world!" 



394 VIEWS A-FOOT. 

—a prediction, which time has not verified. 
The world is now going forward, prouder than 
ever, and though we thank Rome for the legacy 
she has left us, we would not wish the dust of 
her ruin to cumber our path. 

While standing in the arena, impressed with 
the spirit of the scene around me, which grew 
more spectral and melancholy as the dusk of 
evening began to fill up the broken arches, my 
eye was assailed by the shrines ranged around 
the space, doubtless to remove the pollution of 
paganism. In the middle stands also a cross, 
with an inscription, granting an absolution of 
forty days to all who kiss it. Now, although a 
simple cross in the centre might be very appro- 
priate, both as a token of the heroic devotion 
of the martyr Telemachus and the triumph of a 
true religion over the barbarities of the Past, 
this congregation of shrines and bloody pictures 
mars very much the unity of association so 
necessary to the perfect enjoyment of any such 
scene. 

We saw the flush of sunset fade behind the 
Capitoline Hill, and passed homeward by the 
Forum, as its shattered pillars were growing 
solemn and spectral through the twilight. I in- 
tend to visit them often again, and "meditate 
amongst decay." I begin already to grow at- 
tached to their lonely grandeur. A spirit, almost 
human, speaks from the desolation, and there is 
something in the voiceless oracles it utters, that 
strikes an answering chord in my own breast. 

In the Via de' Pontefici, not far distant from 
the Borghese Palace, we saw the Mausoleum of 
Augustus. It is a large circular structure some- 
what after the plan of that of Hadrian, but on 
a much smaller scale. The interior has been 
cleared out, seats erected around the walls, and 
the whole is now a summer theatre, for the 
amusement of the peasantry and tradesmen. 
What a .commentary on greatness ! Harlequin 



CHAMBERS AND CRAWFORD. 395 

playing his pranks in the tomb of an Emperor, 
and the spot which nations approached with 
reverence, resounding with the mirth of beggars 
and degraded vassals ! 

I visited lately the studio of a young Phila- 
delphian, Mr. W. B. Chambers, who has been 
here two or three years. In studying the lega- 
cies of art which the old masters left to their 
country, he has caught some of the genuine 
poetic inspiration which warmed them. But he 
is modest as talented, and appears to under- 
value his works, so long as they do not reach 
his own mental ideal. He chooses principally 
subjects from the Italian peasant-life, which 
abounds with picturesque and classic beauty. 
His pictures of the shepherd boy of the Albruzzi, 
and the brown maidens of the Campagnaare fine 
illustrations of this class, and the fidelity with 
which he copies nature, is an earnest of his fu- 
ture success. 

I was in the studio of Crawford, the sculptor ; 
he has at present nothing finished in the marble. 
There were many casts of his former works, 
which, judging from their appearance in plaster, 
must be of no common excellence — for the sculp- 
tor can only be justly judged in marble. I saw 
some fine bas-reliefs of classical subjects, and an 
exquisite group of Mercury and Psyche, but his 
masterpiece is undoubtedly the Orpheus. There 
is a spirit in this figure which astonished me. 
The face is full of the inspiration of the poet, 
softened by the lover's tenderness, and the whole 
fervor of his soul is expressed in the eagerness 
with which he gazes forward, on stepping past 
the sleeping Cerberus. Crawford is now engaged 
on the statue of an Indian girl, pierced by an 
arrow, and dying. It is a simple and touching 
figure, and will, I think, be one of his best 
works. 

We are often amused with the groups in the 
square of the Pantheon, which we can see from 



396 VIEWS A-FOOT. 

our chamber-window. Shoemakers and tinkers 
carry on their business along the sunny side, 
while the venders of oranges and roasted chest- 
nuts form a circle around the Egyptian obelisk 
and fountain. Across the end of an opposite 
street we get a glimpse of the vegetable-market, 
and now and then the shrill voice of a pedlar 
makes its nasal solo audible above the confused 
chorus. As the beggars choose the Corso, St. 
Peter's, and the ruins for their principal haunts, 
we are now spared the hearing of their lamenta- 
tions. Every time we go out we are assailed with 
them. "Maladetta sia la vostra testa ! "— 
"Curses be upon your head ! " — said one whom 
I passed without notice. The priests are, how- 
ever, the greatest beggars. — In every church are 
kept offering boxes, for the support of the church 
or some unknown institution ; they even go from 
house to house, imploring support and assist- 
ance in the name of the Virgin and all the saints, 
while their bloated, sensual countenances and 
capacious frames tell of anything but fasts and 
privations. Once, as I was sitting among the 
ruins, I was suddenly startled by a loud, rattling 
sound ; turning my head, I saw a figure clothed 
in white from head to foot, with only two small 
holes for the eyes. He held in his hand a money- 
box, on which was a figure of the Virgin, which 
he held close to my lips, that I might kiss it. 
This I declined doing, but dropped a baiocco 
into his box, when, making the sign of the cross, 
he silently disappeared. 

Our present lodging (Trattoria del Sole) is a 
good specimen "of an Italian inn for mechanics 
and common tradesmen. Passing through the 
front room, which is an eating-place for the 
common people — with a barrel of wine in the 
corner, and bladders of lard hanging among 
orange boughs in the window — we enter a dark 
court-yard filled with heavy carts, and noisy 
with the neighing of horses and singing of 



A ROMAN INN. 397 

f rooms, for the stables occupy part of the 
ouse. An open staircase, running all around 
this hollow square, leads to the second, third and 
fourth stories. 

On the second story is the dining room for the 
better class of travellers, who receive the same 
provisions as those below for double the price, 
and the additional privilege of giving the waiter 
two baiocchi. The sleeping apartments are in 
the fourth story, and are named according to the 
fancy of the former landlord, in mottos above 
each door. Thus, on arriving here, the Triester, 
with his wife and child, more fortunate than our 
first parents, took refuge in "Paradise," while 
we Americans were ushered into the "Chamber of 
Jove." We have occupied it ever since, and find 
a paul (ten cents) apiece cheap enough for a 
good bed and a window opening on the Pan- 
theon. 

Next to the Coliseum, the baths of Caracalla 
are the grandest remains of Eome. The build- 
ing is a thousand feet square, and its massive 
walls look as if built by a race of giants. These 
Titan remains are covered with green shrubbery, 
and long trailing vines sweep over the cornice, 
and wave down like tresses from architrave and ; 
arch. In some of its grand halls the mosaic 
pavement is yet entire. The excavations are 
still carried on; from the number of statues 
already found, this would seem to have been 
one of the most gorgeous edifices of the olden 
time. 

I have been now several days loitering and 
sketching among the ruins, and I feel as if I 
could willingly wander for months beside these 
mournful relics, and draw inspiration from 
the lofty yet melancholy lore they teach. There 
is a spirit haunting them, real and undoubted. 
Every shattered column, every broken arch and 
mouldering wall, but calls up more vividly to 
mind the glory that has passed away. Each 



398 VIEWS A- FOOT. 

lonely pillar stands as proudly as if it still 
helped to bear up the front of a glorious temple, 
and the air seems scarcely to have ceased vibrat- 
ing with the clarions that heralded a conqueror's 
triumph, 

" the old majestic trees 

Stand ghost like in the Caesar's home, 

As if their conscious roots were set 
In the old graves of giant Rome, 

And drew their sap all kingly jet! " 

****** 
" There every mouldering stone beneath 

Is broken from some mighty thought, 
And sculptures in the dust still breathe 

The fire with which their lines were wrought, 
And 6under'd arch and plundered tomb 
Still thunder back the echo— 'Home!'" 

In Rome there is no need that the imagination 
be excited to call up thrilling emotion or poetic 
reverie — they are forced on the mind by the sub- 
lime spirit" of the scene. The roused bard 
might here pour forth his thoughts in the wildest 
climaces, and I could believe he felt it all. This 
is like the Italy of my dreams — that golden 
realm whose image has been nearly chased away 
by the earthly reality. I expected to find a land 
of light and beauty, where every step crushed a 
flower or displaced a sunbeam — whose very air 
was poetic inspiration, and whose every scene 
filled the soul with romantic feelings . Nothing is 
left of my picture but the far-off mountains, 
robed in the sapphire veil of the Ausonian air, 
and these ruins, amid whose fallen glory sits 
triumphant the spirit of ancient song. 

I have seen the flush of morn and eve rest on 
the Coliseum; I have seen the noon-day sky 
framed in its broken loopholes, like plates of 
polished sapphire ; and last night, as the moon 
has grown into the zenith, I went to view it with 
her. Around the Forum all was silent and 
spectral — a sentinel challenged us at the Arch of 



THE CAMPAGNA. 399 

Titus, under which we passed and along the 
Caesar's wall, which lay in black shadow. Dead 
stillness brooded around the Coliseum ; the pale, 
silvery lustre streamed through its arches, and 
over the grassy walls, giving them a look of 
shadowy grandeur which day could not bestow. 
The scene will remain fresh in my memory for- 
ever. 



CHAPTEK XLI. 

TIVOLI AND THE ROMAN CAMPAGNA. 

Jan. 9. — A few days ago we returned from an 
excursion to Tivoli, one of the loveliest spots in 
Italy. We left the Eternal City by the Gate of 
San Lorenzo, and twenty minutes' walk brought 
us to the bare and bleak Campagna, which was 
spread around us for leagues in every direction. 
Here and there a shepherd-boy in his woolly 
coat, with his flock of browsing sheep, were the 
only objects that broke its desert-like monot- 
ony. 

At the fourth mile we crossed the rapid Anio, 
the ancient Teverone, formerly the boundary 
between Latium and the Sabine dominions, and 
at the tenth, came upon some fragments of the 
old Tiburtine way, formed of large irregular 
blocks of basaltic lava. A short distance fur- 
ther, we saw across the plain the ruins of the 
bath of Agrippa, built by the side of the Tarta- 
rean Lake. The wind, blowing from it, bore us 
an overpowering smell of sulphur ; the waters of 
the little river Solfatara, which crosses the road, 
are of a milky blue color, and carry those of the 
lake into the Anio . A fragment of the old bridge 
over it still remains. 



400 Views a- foot. 

Finding the water quite warm, we determined 
to have a bath. So we ran down the plain, 
which was covered with a thick coat of sulphur, 
and sounded hollow to our tread, till we reached 
a convenient place, where we threw off' our 
clothes, and plunged in. The warm wave w r as 
delightful to the skin, but extremely offensive to 
the smell, and when we came out, our mouths 
and throats were filled with the stifling gas. 

It was growing dark as we mounted through 
the narrow streets of Tivoli, but endeavored to 
gain some sight of the renowned beauties of the 
spot, before going to rest. From a platform 
on a brow of the hill, we looked down into the 
defile, at whose bottom the Anio was roaring, 
and caught a sideward glance of the Cascatelles, 
sending up their spray amid the evergreen 
bushes that fringe the rocks. Above the deep 
glen that curves into the mountain, stands the 
beautiful temple of the Sybil — a building of the 
most perfect and graceful proportion. It crests 
the "rocky brow" like a fairy dwelling, and 
looks all the lovelier for the wild caverns below. 
Gazing downward from the bridge, one sees the 
waters of the Anio tumbling into the pictur- 
esque grotto of the Sirens; around a rugged 
corner, a cloud of white spray whirls up contin- 
ually, while the boom of a cataract rumbles 
down the glen. All these we marked in the deep- 
ening dusk, and then hunted an albergo. 

The shrill-voiced hostess gave us a good sup- 
per and clean beds; in return we diverted the 
people very much by the relation of our sulphur 
bath. We were awakened in the night by the 
wind shaking the very soul out of our loose 
casement. I fancied 1 heard torrents of rain 
dashing against the panes, and groaned in bit- 
terness of spirit on thinking of a walk back to 
Borne in such weather. When morning came, 
we found it was only a hurricane of wind which 
was strong enough to tear off pieces of the old 



THE CASCADE OF THE ANIO. 401 

roofs. I saw some capuchins nearly overturned 
in crossing the square, by the wind seizing their 
white robes. 

I had my fingers frozen and my eyes filled with 
sand in trying to draw the Sybil's temple, and 
therefore left it to join my companions, who had 
gone down into the glen to see the great cas- 
cade. The Anio bursts out of a cavern in the 
mountain-side, and like a prisoner giddy with 
recovered liberty, reels over the precipice more 
than two hundred feet deep. The bottom is hid 
in a cloud of boiling spray, that shifts from side 
to side, and driven by the wind, sweeps whistling 
down the narrow pass. It stuns the ear with a 
perpetual boom, giving a dash of grandeur to 
the enrapturing beauty of the scene. I tried a 
foot-path that appeared to lead down to the 
Cascatelles, but after advancing some distance 
along the side of an almost perpendicular preci- 
pice, I came to a corner that looked so danger- 
ous, especially as the wind was nearly strong 
enough to carry me off, that it seemed safest to 
return. We made another vain attempt to get 
down, by creeping along the bed of a torrent, 
filled with briars. The Cascatelles are formed by 
that part of the Anio, which is used in the iron 
works, made out of the ruins of Mecaenas' villa. 
They gush out from under the ancient arches, 
and tumble more than a hundred feet down the 
precipice, their white waters gleaming out from 
the dark and feathery foliage. Not far distant 
are the remains of the villa of Horace. 

We took the road to Frascati, and walked for 
miles among cane-swamps and over plains cov- 
ered with sheep. The people we saw, were most 
degraded and ferocious-looking, and there were 
many I would not willingly meet alone after 
nightfall. Indeed it is still considered quite un- 
safe to venture without the walls of Rome, after 
dark. The women, with their yellow com- 
plexions, and the bright red blankets they wear 



402 VIEWS A-FOOT. 

folded around the head and shoulders, resemble 
Indian Squaws. 

I lately spent three hours in the Museum of the 
Capitol, on the summit of the sacred hill. In the 
hall of the Gladiator I noticed an exqusite statue 
of Diana. There is a pure, virgin grace in the 
classic outlines of the figure that keeps the eye 
long upon it. The face is full of cold, majestic 
dignity, but it is the ideal of a being to be wor- 
shipped, rather than loved. The Faun of Praxi- 
teles, in the same room, is a glorious work ; it is 
the perfect embodiment of that wild, merry race 
the Grecian poets dreamed of. One looks on the 
Gladiator with a hushed breath and an awed 
spirit. He is dying ; the blood flows more slowly 
from the deep wound in his side ; his head is sink- 
ing downwards, and the arm that supports his 
body becomes more and more nerveless. You 
feel that a dull mist is coming over his vision, 
and almost wait to see his relaxing limbs sink 
suddenly on his shield. That the rude, barbarian 
form has a soul, may be read in his touchingly 
expressive countenance. It warms the sym- 
pathies like reality to look upon it. Yet how 
many Romans may have gazed on this work, 
moved nearly to tears, who have seen hundreds 
perish in the arena without a pitying emotion ! 
Why is it that Art has a voice frequently more 
powerful than Nature? 

How cold it is here ! I was forced to run home 
to-night, nearly at full speed, from the Cafe delle 
Belle Arti through the Corso and the Piazza Co- 
lonna, to keep warm. The clear, frosty moon 
threw the shadow of the column of Antoninus 
over me as I passed, and it made me shiver to 
look at the thin, falling sheet of the fountain. 
Winter is winter everywhere, and even the sun of 
Italy cannot always scorch his icy wings. 

Two days ago we took a ramble outside the 
walls. Passing the Coliseum and Caracalla's 
Baths, we reached the tomb of Scipio, a small 



GROTTO OF EGBRIA. 403 

sepulchral vault, uear the roadside. The ashes 
of the warrior were scattered to the winds long 
ago, and his mausoleum is fast falling to decay. 
The old arch over the Appian way is still stand- 
ing, near the modern Porta, San Sebastiano 
through which we entered on the far-famed road. 
Here and there it is quite entire, and we walked 
over the stones once worn by the feet of Virgil 
and Horace and Cicero. After passing the tem- 
ple of Romulus — a shapeless and ivy-grown ruin 
— and walking a mile or more beyond the walls, 
we reached the Circus of Caracalla, whose long 
and shattered walls fill the hollow of one of the 
little dells of the Campagna. The original 
structure must have been of great size and 
splendor, but those twin Yandals — Time and 
Avarice— have stripped away everything but the 
lofty brick masses, whose nakedness the pitying 
ivy strives to cover. 

Further, on a gentle slope, is the tomb of "the 
wealthiest Roman's wife," familiar to every one 
through Childe Harold's musings. It is a round, 
massive tower, faced with large blocks of mar- 
ble, and still bearing the name of Cecilia Metella. 
One side is much ruined, and the top is over- 
grown with grass and wild bushes. The wall is 
about thirty feet thick, so that but a small 
round space is left in the interior, which is open 
to the rain and filled with rubbish. The echoes 
pronounced hollowly after us the name of the 
dead for whom it was built, but they could tell 
us nothing of her life's history — 

" How lived, how loved, how died she? " 

I made a hurried drawing of it, and we then 
turned to the left, across the Campagna, to seek 
the grotto of Egeria. Before us, across the 
brown plain, extended the Sabine Mountains ; in 
the clear air the houses of Tivoli, twenty miles 
distant, were plainly visible. The giant aque- 



404 VIEWS A-FOOT. 

duct stretched in a long line across the Cam- 
pagna to the mountain of Albano, its broken 
and disjointed arches resembling the vertebrae 
of some mighty monster. With the ruins of 
temples and tombs strewing the plain for miles 
around it, it might be called the spine to the 
skeleton of Home. 

We passed many ruins, made beautiful by the 
clinging ivy, and reached a solemn grove of ever- 
green oak, overlooking a secluded valley. I was 
soon in the meadow, leaping ditches, rustling 
through cane-brakes, and climbing up to mossy 
arches to find out the fountain of Numa's 
nymph; while my companion, who had less taste 
for the romantic, looked on complacently from 
the leeward side of the hill. At length we found 
an arched vault in the hill-side overhung with 
wild vines, and shaded in summer by umbra- 
geous trees that grow on the soil above. At the 
further end a stream of water gushed out from 
beneath a broken statue> and an aperture in the 
wall revealed a dark cavern behind. This, then, 
was " Egeria's grot. " The ground was trampled 
by the feet of cattle, and the taste of the water 
was anything but pleasant. But it was not for 
Numa and his nymph alone, that I sought it so 
ardently. The sunbeam of another mind lingers 
on the spot. See how it gilds the ruined and 
neglected fount! 

" The mosses of thy fountain still are sprinkled 

With thine Elysian water-drops, the face 
Of thy cave-guarded spring, with years unwrinkled, 

Reflects the meek-eyed genius of the place, 
Whose wild, green margin, now no more erase 

Art's works; no more its sparkling waters sleep, 
Prisoned in marble; bubbling from the base 

Of the cleft statue, with a gentle leap, 
The rill runs o'er, and 'round, fern, flowers and ivy creep, 

Fantastically tangled." 

I tried to creep into the grotto, but it was un- 
pleasantly dark, and no nymph appeared to 



SERVICE IN ST. PETER'S. 405 

chase away the shadow with her lustrous eyes. 
The whole hill is pierced by subterranean cham- 
bers and passages. 

I spent another Sunday morning in St. Peter's. 
High mass was being celebrated in one of the 
side Chapels, and a great number of the priest- 
hood were present. The music was simple, sol- 
emn, and very impressive, and a fine effect was 
produced by the combination of the full, sono- 
rous voices of the priests, and the divine sweet- 
ness of that band of mutilated unfortunates, 
who sing here. They sang with a full, clear tone, 
sweet as the first lispings of a child, but it was 
painful to hear that melody, purchased at the 
expense of manhood. 

Near the dome is a bronze statue, of St. Peter, 
which seems to have a peculiar atmosphere of 
sanctity. People say their prayers before it by 
hundreds, and then kiss its toe, which is nearly 
worn away by the application of so many thou- 
sand lips. I saw a crowd struggle most irrever- 
ently to pay their devotion to it. There was a 
great deal of jostling and confusion; some went 
so far as to thrust the faces of others against 
the toe as they were about to kiss it. What is 
more remarkable, it is an antique statue of Ju- 
piter, taken, I believe, from the Pantheon. An 
English artist, showing it to a friend, just ar- , 
rived in Rome, remarked very wittily that it was 
the statue of Jew-Peter. 

I went afterwards to the Villa Borghese, out- 
side the Porta del Popolo. The gardens occupy 
thirty or forty acres, and are always thronged 
in the afternoon with the carriages, of the Rom an 
and foreign nobility. In summer, it must be a 
heavenly place; even now, with its musical fount- 
ains, long avenues, and grassy slopes, crowned 
with the fan-like branches of the Italian pine, it 
reminds one of the fairy landscapes of Boccaccio. 
We threaded our way through the press of car- 
riages on thePincian hill, and saw the enormous 



406 VIEWS A- FOOT. 

bulk of St. Peter's loom up against the sunset 
sky. I counted forty domes and spires in that 
part of Rome that lay below us — but on what a 
marble glory looked that sun eighteen centuries 
ago ! Modern Rome — it is in comparison, a den 
of filth, cheats and beggars I 

Yesterday, while taking a random stroll 
through the city, I visited the church of St. Ono^ 
frio, where Tasso is buried. It is not far from 
St. Peter's, on the summit of a lonely hill. The 
building was closed, bnt an old monk admitted 
us on application. The interior is quite small, 
but very old, and the floor is covered with the 
tombs of princes and prelates of a past century; 
Near the end I found a small slab with the in- 
scription : 

"torquati tassi 

ossa 

hic jacent." 

That was all— but what more was needed ? Who 
knows not the name and fame and sufferings of 
the glorious bard? The pomp of gold and 
marble are not needed to deck the slumber of 
genius. On the wall, above, hangs an old and 
authentic portrait of him, very similar to the 
engravings in circulation. A crown of laurel en- 
circles the lofty brow, and the eye has that wild, 
mournful expression, which accords so well with 
the mysterious tale of his love and madness. 
Owing to the mountain storms, which im- 

Sosed on us the expense of a carriage-journey to 
ome, we shall be prevented from going further. 
One great cause of this is the heavy fee required 
for passports in Italy. In most of the Italian 
cities, the cost of the different vises amounts to 
$4 or $"5; a few such visits as these reduee our 
funds very materially. The American Consul's 
fee is $2, owing to the illiberal course of our 
government, in withholding all salary from her 



THE AMERICAN CONSUL. 407 

Consuls in Europe. Mr. Brown, however, in 
whose family we spent last evening very pleas- 
antly, on our requesting that he would deduct 
something from the usual fee, kindly declined 
accepting anything. We felt this kindness the 
more, as from the character which some of our 
late Consuls bear in Italy, we had not antic- 
ipated it. We shall remember him with deeper 
gratitude than many would suppose, who have 
never known what it was to be a foreigner. 

To-morrow, therefore, we leave Borne — here is, 
at last, the limit of our wanderings. We have 
spent much toil and privation to reach here, and 
now, after two weeks' rambling and musing 
among the mighty relics of past glory, we turn 
our faces homeward. The thrilling hope I 
cherished during the whole pilgrimage — to climb 
Parnassus and drink from Castaly, under the 
blue heaven of Greece (both far easier than the 
steep hill and hidden fount of poesy, I worship 
afar off)— to sigh for fallen art, beneath the 
broken friezes of the Parthenon, and look with a 
pilgrim's eye on the isles of Homer and of Sap- 
pho — must be given up, unwillingly and sorrow- 
fully though it be. These glorious anticipations 
— among the brightest that blessed my boyhood 
— are slowly wrung from me by stern necessity. 
Even Naples, the lovely Parthenope, where the 
Mantuan bard sleeps on the sunny shore, by the 
bluest of summer seas, with the disinterred 
Pompeii beyond, and Psestum amid its roses on 
the lonely Calabrian plain — even this, almost 
within sightof the cross of St. Peter's, is barred 
from me. Farewell then, clime of • 'fame and eld, " 
since it must be ! A pilgrim's blessing for the 
lore ye have taught him! 



408 VIBWS A FOOT. 



CHAPTER XLII. 

Palo. — The sea is breaking the long swells 
below the window, and a glorious planet shines 
in the place of the sunset that has died away. 
This is our first resting-place since leaving 
Rome. We have been walking all day over the 
bare and dreary Campagna, and it is a relief to 
look at last on the broad, blue expanse of the 
Tyrrhene Sea. 

When we emerged from the cool alleys of 
Rome, and began to climb up and down the 
long, barren swells, the sun beat down on us 
with an almost summer heat. On crossing a 
ridge near Castel Guido, we took our last look 
of Rome, and saw from the other side the sun- 
shine lying like a dazzling belt on the far Med- 
iterranean. The country is one of the most 
wretched that can be imagined. Miles and miles 
of uncultivated land, with scarcely a single habi- 
tation, extend on either side of the road, and the 
few shepherds who watch their flocks in the 
marshy hollows, look wild and savage enough 
for any kind of crime. It made me shudder to 
see every face bearing such a villainous stamp. 

Civita Vecchia, Jan. 11. — We left Palo just 
after sunrise, and walked in the cool of the 
morning beside the blue Mediterranean. On the 
right, the low outposts of the Apennines rose, 
bleak and brown, the narrow plain between them 
and the shore resembling a desert, so destitute 
was it of the signs of civilized life. A low, white 
cloud that hung over the sea, afar off, showed 
ns the locality of Sardinia, though the land was 
not visible. The sun shone down warmly, and 
with the blue sky and bluer sea we could easily 
have imagined a milder season. The barren 



SHORE OF THE MEDITERRANEAN. 409 

scenery took a new interest in my eyes, when I 
remembered that I was spending amidst it that 
birth-day which removes me, in the eyes of the 
world, from dependent youth to responsible 
manhood. 

In the afternoon we found a beautiful cove in a 
curve of the shore, and went to bathe in the cold 
surf. It was very refreshing, but not quite 
equal to the sulphur-bath on the road to Tivoli. 
The mountains now ran closer to the sea, and 
the road was bordered with thickets of myrtle. 
I stopped often to beat my staff into the bushes, 
and inhale the fragrance that arose from their 
crushed leaves. The hills were covered with this 
poetical shrub, and any acre of the ground 
would make the fortune of a florist at home. 

The sun was sinking in a sky of orange and 
rose, as Civita Yecchia came in sight on a long 
headland before us. Beyond the sea stretched 
the dim hills of Corsica. We walked nearly an 
hour in the clear moonlight, by the sounding 
shore, before the gate of the city was reached. 
We have found a tolerable inn, and are now 
enjoying the pleasures of supper and rest. 

Marseilles, Jan. 16. — At length we tread the 
shore of France — of sunny Provence — the last 
un visited realm we have to roam through before 
returning home. It is with a feeling of more 
than common relief that we see around us the 
lively faces and hear the glib tongues of the 
French. It is like an earnest that the "rough- 
ing" we have undergone among Bohemian boors 
and Italian savages is well nigh finished, and 
that, henceforth, we shall find civilized sympathy 
and politeness, if nothing more, to make the way 
smoother. Perhaps the three woful days which 
terminated at half-past two yesterday afternoon, 
as we passed through the narrow strait into the 
beautiful harbor which Marseilles encloses in her 
sheltering heart, make it still pleasanter. Now, 
while there is time, I must describe those three 



410 VIEWS A-FOOT. 

days, tor who could write on the wet deck of a 
steamboat, amid all the sights and smells which 
a sea voyage creates? Description does not 
flourish when the bones are sore with lying on 
planks, and the body shivering like an aspen leaf 
with cold. 

About the old town of Civita Vecchia there is 
not much to be said, except that it has the same 
little harbor which Trajan dug for it, and is as 
dirty and disagreeable as a town can well be. 
We saw nothing except a little church, and the 
prison-yard, full of criminals, where the celebrated 
bandit, Gasparoni, has been now confined for 
eight years. 

The Neapolitan Company's boat Mongibello, 
was advertised to leave the 12th, so after 
procuring our passports, we went to the office 
to take passage. The official, however, refused 
to give us tickets for the third place, because, 
forsooth, we were not servants or common 
laborers! and words were wasted in trying to 
convince him that it would make no difference. 
As the second cabin fare was nearly three times 
as high, and entirely too dear for us, we went to 
the office of the Tuscan Company, whose boat 
was to leave in two days. Through the influence 
of an Italian gentleman, secretary to Bartolini, 
the American Consul, whom we met, they agreed 
to take us for forty-five francs, on deck, the 
price of the Neapolitan boat being thirty. 

Rather than stay two days longer in the dull 
town, we went again to the latter Company's 
office and offered them forty-five francs to go 
that day in their boat. This removed the for- 
mer scruples, and tickets were immediately made 
out. After a plentiful dinner at the albergo, to 
prepare ourselves for the exposure, we filled our 
pockets with a supply of bread, cheese, and figs, 
for the voyage. We then engaged a boatman, 
who agreed to row us out to the steamer for two 
pauls, but after he had us on board and an oar's 



QUARREL WITH A BOATMAN. 411 

length from the quay, he said two pauls apiece 
was his bargain. I instantly refused, and, sum- 
moning the best Italian I could command, ex- 
plained our agreement ; but he still persisted in 
demanding double price. The dispute soon drew 
a number of persons to the quay, some of whom, 
being boatmen, sided with him. Finding he had 
us safe in his boat, his manner was exceedingly 
calm and polite. He contradicted me with a 
"pardon, Signore!" accompanying the words 
with a low bow and a graceful lift of his scarlet 
cap, and replied to my indignant accusations in 
the softest and most silvery-modulated Roman 
sentences. I found, at last, that if I was in the 
light, I cut the worse figure of the two, and, 
therefore, put an end to the dispute by desiring 
him to row on at his own price. 

The hour of starting was two, but the boat 
lay quietly in the harbor till four, when we glided 
out on the open sea, and went northward, 
with the blue hills of Corsica far on our left. A 
gorgeous sunset faded away over the water, and 
the moon rose behind the low mountains of the 
Italian coast. Having found a warm and shel- 
tered place near the chimney, I drew my beaver 
further over my eyes, to keep out the moonlight, 
and lay down on the deck with ray knapsack 
under my head. It was a hard bed, indeed ; and 
the first time I attempted to rise, I found myself 
glued to the floor by the pitch which was smeared 
along the seams of the boards! Our fellow- 
sufferers were a company of Swiss soldiers going 
home after a four years' service under the King 
of Naples, but they took to their situation more 
easily than we. 

Sleep was next to impossible, so I paced the 
deck occasionally looking out on the moonlit 
sea and the dim shores on either side. A little 
after midnight we passed between Elba and 
Corsica. The dark crags of Elba rose on our 
right, and the bold headlands of Napoleon's isle 



412 VIEWS A-FOOT. 

stood opposite, at perhaps twenty miles' dis- 
tance. There was something dreary and mys- 
terious in the whole scene, viewed at such a time 
— the grandeur of his career, who was born on 
one and exiled to the other, gave it a strange 
and thrilling interest. 

We made the light-house before the harbor ot 
Leghorn at dawn, and by sunrise were anchored 
within the mole. I sat on the deck the whole 
day, watching the picturesque vessels that skim- 
med about with their lateen sails, and wonder- 
ing how soon the sailors, on the deck of a Bos- 
ton brig anchored near us, would see my distant 
country. Leaving at four o'clock, we dashed 
away, along the mountain coast of Carrara, at a 
rapid rate. The wind was strong and cold, but 
I lay down behind the boiler, and though the 
boards were as hard as ever, slept two or three 
hours. When I awoke at half-past two in the 
morning, after a short rest, Genoa was close at 
hand. We gilded between the two revolving 
lights on the mole, into the harbor, with the 
amphitheatre on which the superb city sits, dark 
and silent around us. It began raining soon, 
the engme-fire sank down, and as there was no 
place of shelter, we were shortly wet to the skin. 

How long those dreary hours seemed, till the 
dawn came ! All was cold and rainy and dark, 
and we waited in a kind of torpid misery for day- 
light. The entire day, I passed sitting in a coil 
of rope under the stern of the cabin, and even 
the beauties of the glorious city scarce affected 
me. We lay opposite the Doria palace, and the 
constellation of villas and towers still glittered 
along the hills ; but who, with his teeth chatter- 
ing and limbs numb and damp, could feel pleas- 
ure in looking on Elysium itself? 

We got under way again at three o'clock. 
The ram very soon hid the coast from view, and 
the waves pitched our boat about in a manner 
not at all pleasant. I soon experienced sea- 



A SAILOR'S SYMPATHY. 413 

sickness in all its horrors. We had accidentally 
made the acquaintance of one of the Neapolitan 
sailors, who had been in America. He was one 
of those rough, honest natures I like to meet 
with— their blunt kindness, is better than re- 
fined and oily-tongued suavity. As we were 
standing by the chimney, reflecting dolefully 
how we should pass the coming night, he came 
up and said : "I am in trouble about you, poor 
fellows ! I don't think I shall sleep three hours 
to-night, to think of you. I shall tell all the 
cabin they shall give you beds, because they 
shall see you are gentlemen! " Whether he did 
so or the officers were moved by spontaneous 
commiseration, we knew not, but in half an 
hour a servant beckoned us into the cabin, 
and berths were given us. 

I turned in with a feeling of relief not easily 
imagined, and forgave the fleas willingly, in the 
comfort of a shelter from the storm. When I 
awoke, it was broad day. A fresh breeze was 
drying the deck, and the sun was half- visible 
among breaking clouds. We had just passed 
the Isle of the Titan, one of the Isles des Hjeres, 
and the bay of Toulon opened on our right. 
It was a rugged, rocky coast, but the hills of 
sunny Provence rose beyond. The sailor came 
up with a smile of satisfaction on his rough 
countenance, and said: "You did sleep better, 
I think ; I did tell them all ! " coupling his asser- 
tion with a round curse on the officers. 

We ran along, beside the brown, bare crags 
till nearly noon, when we reached the eastern 
point of the Bay of Marseilles. A group of 
small islands, formed of bare rocks, rising in 
precipices three or four hundred feet high, guards 
the point ; on turning into the Gulf, we saw on 
the left the rocky islands of Pomegues, and If, 
with the castle crowning the latter, in which 
Mirabeau was confined. The ranges of hills 
which rose around the great bay, were spotted 



414 VIEWS A- FOOT. 

and sprinkled over with thousands of the coun- 
try cottages of the Marseilles merchants, called 
Bsbstides; the city itself was hidden from view. 
"We saw apparently the whole bay, but there was 
no crowd of vessels, such as Would befit a great 
sea-port ; a few spires peeping over a hill, with 
some fortifications, were all that was visible. At 
length we turned suddenly aside and entered a 
narrow strait, between two forts. Immediately 
a broad harbor opened before us, locked in the 
very heart of the hills on which the city stands. 
It was covered with vessels of all nations; on 
leaving the boat, we rowed past the "Aristides," 
bearing the blue cross of Greece, and I searched 
eagerly and found, among the crowded masts, 
the starry banner of America. 

I have rambled through all the principal parts 
of Marseilles, and am very favorably impressed 
with its appearance. Its cleanliness and the air 
of life and business which marks the streets, are 
the more pleasant after coming from the dirty 
and depopulated Italian cities. The broad 
avenues, lined with trees, which traverse its 
whole length, must be delightful in summer. I 
am often reminded, by its spacious and crowded 
thoroughfares, of our American cities. Although 
founded by the Phoceans, three thousand years 
ago, it has scarcely an edifice of greater antiq- 
uity than three or four centuries, and the tour- 
ist must content himself with wandering through 
the narrow streets of the old town, observing 
the Provencal costumes, or strolling among 
Turks and Moors on the Quai d Orleans. 

We have been detained here a day longer than 
was necessary, owing to some misunderstanding 
about the passports. This has not been favor- 
able to our reduced circumstances, for we have 
now but twenty francs each, left, to ta,ke us to 
Paris. Our boots, too, after serving us so long, 
begin to show signs of failing in this hour of ad- 
versity. Although we are somewhat accustomed 



RAINY PR O VBNCE. 415 

to such circumstances, I cannot help shrinking 
when I think of the solitary napoleon and the 
five hundred miles to be passed. Perhaps, how- 
ever, the coin will do as much as its great name- 
sake, and achieve for us a Marengo in the war 
with fate. 



CHAPTER XLIII. 

PILGRIMAGE TO VAUCLUSE AND JOURNEY UP THE 
RHONE. 

We left Marseilles about nine o'clock, on a dull, 
rainy morning, for Avignon and the Rhone, in- 
tending to take in our way the glen of Vaucluse. 
The dirty faubourgs stretch out along the road 
for a great distance, and we trudged through 
them, past foundries, furnaces and manufact- 
ories, considerably disheartened with the pros- 
pect. We wound among the bleak stony hills, 
continually ascending, for nearly three hours. 
Great numbers of cabarets, frequented by the 
common people, lined the roads, and we met 
continually trains of heavily laden wagons, 
drawn by large mules. The country is very wild 
and barren, and would have been tiresome, ex- 
cept for the pine groves with their beautiful green 
foliage. We got something to eat with difficulty 
at an inn, for the people spoke nothing but the 
Provencal dialect, and the place was so cold and 
cheerless we wer'e glad to go out again into the 
storm. It mattered little to us, that we heard 
the language in which the gay troubadours of 
king Rene sung their songs of love. We thought 
more of our dripping clothes and numb, cold 



m VIE WS A-FOO T. 

limbs, and would have been glad to hear instead, 
the strong, hearty German tongue, full of 
warmth and kindly sympathy for the stranger. 
The wind swept drearily among the hills ; black, 
gusty clouds covered the sky, and the incessant 
rain filled the road with muddy pools. We 
looked at the country chateaux, so comfortable 
in the midst of their sheltering poplars, with a 
sigh, and thought of homes afar off, whose doors 
were never closed to us. 

This was all forgotten, when we reached Aix, 
and the hostess of the Cafe d' Afrique filled her 
little stove with fresh coal, and hung our wet 
garments around it, while her daughter, a pale- 
faced, crippled child, smiled kindly on us and 
tried to talk with us in French. Putting on our 

damp, heavy coats again, B and I rambled 

through the streets, while our frugal supper was 
preparing. We saw the statue of the Bon Roi 
Itene, who held at Aix his court of shepherds and 
troubadours — the dark Cathedral of St. Saveur 
— the ancient walls and battlements, and gazed 
down the valley at the dark, precipitous mass 
of Mont St. Victor, at whose base Marius ob- 
tained a splendid victory over the barbarians. 

After leaving next morning, we saw at some 
distance to the south, the enormous aqueduct 
now being erected for the canal from the Rhone 
to Marseilles. The shallow, elevated valleys we 
passed in the forenoon's walk were stony and 
barren, but covered with large orchards of al- 
mond trees, the fruit of which forms a consider- 
able article of export. This district borders on 
the desert of the Crau, a vast plain of stones, 
reaching to the mouth of the Rhone and almost 
entirely uninhabited. We caught occasional 
glimpses of its sea-like waste, between the sum- 
mits of the hills. At length, after threading a 
high ascent, we saw the valley of the Durance 
suddenly below us. The sun, breaking through 
the clouds, shone on the mountain wall, which 



RECRUITS FOR ALGIERS. ill 

stood on the opposite side, touching with his 
glow the bare and rocky precipices that frowned 
for above the stream. Descending to the valley, 
we followed its course towards the Rhone, with 
the ruins of feudal bourgs crowning the crags 
above us. 

It was dusk, when we reached the village of Se- 
nas, tired with the day's march. A landlord, 
standing in his door, on the lookout for cus- 
tomers, invited us to enter, in a manner so polite 
and pressing, we could not choose but to do so. 
This is a universal custom with the country inn- 
keepers. In a little village which we passed to- 
wards evening, there was a tavern, with the 
sign: " The Mother of Soldiers." A portly 
woman, whose face beamed with kindness and 
cheerfulness, stood in the door and invited us to 
stop there for the night. "No, mother!" I an- 
swered; "we must go much further to-day." 
"Go, then," said she, "with good luck, my chil- 
dren ! a pleasant journey ! " On entering the inn 
at Senas, two or three bronzed soldiers were sit- 
ting by the table. My French vocabulary hap- 
pening to give out in the middle of a consulta- 
tion about eggs and onion-soup, one of them 
came to my assistance and addressed me in 
German. He was from Fulda, in Hesse Cassel, 
and had served fifteen years in Africa. Two 
other young soldiers, from the western border 
of Germany, came during the evening, and one 
of them being partly intoxicated, created such a 
tumult, that a quarrel arose, which ended in his 
being beaten and turned out of the house. 

We met, every day, large numbers of recruits 
in companies of one or two hundred, on their 
way to Marseilles to embark for Algiers. They 
were mostly youths, from sixteen to twenty 
years of age, and seemed little to forebode their 
probable fate. In looking on their fresh, healthy 
faces and bounding forms, I saw also a dim and 
ghastly vision of bones whitening on the desert, 



418 VIEWS A- FOOT. 

of men perishing with heat and fever, or stricken 
down by the aim of the savage Bedouin. 

Leaving next morning at day-break, we walked 
on before breakfast to Orgon, a little village in a 
corner of the cliffs which border the Durance, 
and crossed the muddy river by a suspension 
bridge a short distance below, to Cavaillon, 
where the country people were holding a great 
market. From this place a road led across the 
meadow-land to L'Isle, six miles distant. This 
little town is so named, because it is situated on 
an island formed by the crystal Sorgues, which 
flows from the fountains of Vaucluse. It is a 
very picturesque and pretty place. Great mill- 
wheels, turning slowly and constantly, stand at 
intervals in the stream, whose grassy banks are 
now as green as in spring-time. We walked 
along the Sorgues, which is quite as beautiful 
and worthy to be sung as the Clitumnus, to the 
end of the village, to take the road to Vaucluse. 
Beside its banks stands a dirty, modern "Hotel 
de Petrarque et Laure." Alas, that the names 
of the most romantic and impassioned lovers 
of all history should be desecrated to a sign-post 
to allure gormandizing tourists ! 

The bare mountain in whose heart lies the 
poet's solitude, now rose before us, at the foot 
of the lofty Mount Ventoux, whose summit of 
snows extended beyond. We left the river, and 
walked over a barren plain, across which the 
wind blew most drearily. The sky was rainy 
and dark, and completed the desolateness of the 
scene, which in no wise heightened our anticipa- 
tions of the renowned glen. At length we re- 
joined the Sorgues and entered a little green val- 
ley running up into the mountain. The narrow- 
ness of the entrance entirely shut out the wind, 
and except the rolling of the waters over their 
pebbly bed, all was still and lonely and beautiful. 
The sides of the dell were covered with olive 
trees, and a narrow strip of emerald meadow 



APPROACH TO VAUCLUSE. 419 

lay at the bottom. It grew more hidden and se- 
questered as we approached the little village of 
Vaucluse. Here, the mountain towers far above, 
and precipices of gray rock, many hundred feet 
high, hang over the narrowing glen. On a crag 
over the village are the remains of a castle; the 
slope below this, now rugged and stony, was 
once graced by the cottage and garden of Pe- 
trarch. All traces of them have long since van- 
ished, but a simple column, bearing the inscrip- 
tion, "APetrarque," stands beside theSorgues. 
We ascended into the defile by a path among 
the rocks, overshadowed by olive and wild fig 
trees, to the celebrated fountains of Vaucluse. 
The glen seems as if struck into the mountain's 
depths by one blow of an enchanter's wand ; and 
just at the end, where the rod might have rested 
in its downward sweep, is the fathomless well 
whose overbrimming fulness gives birth to the 
Sorgues. We climbed up over the mossy rocks 
and sat down in the grot, beside the dark, still 
pool. It was the most absolute solitude. The 
rocks towered above and over us, to the height 
of six hundred feet, and the gray walls of the 
wild glen below shut out all appearance of life. 
I leaned over the rock and drank of the blue 
crystal that grew gradually darker towards the 
center, till it became a mirror, and gave back a 
perfect reflection of the crags above it. There 
was no bubbling — no gushing up from its deep 
bosom — but the wealth of sparkling waters con- 
tinually welled over, as from a too-full goblet. 

It was with actual sorrow that I turned away 
from the silent spot. I never visited a place to 
which the fancy clung more suddenly and fondly. 
There is something holy in its solitude, making 
one envy Petrarch the years of calm and unsul- 
lied enjoyment which blessed him there. As some 
Eersons, whom we pass as strangers, strike a 
idden chord in our spirits, compelling a silent 
sympathy with them, so some landscapes have 

14 



420 VIEWS A- FOOT. 

a character of beauty which harmonizes thrill- 
ingly with the mood in which we look upon them, 
till we forget admiration in the glow of spon- 
taneous attachment. They seem like abodes of 
the Beautiful, which the soul in its wanderings 
long ago visited, and now recognizes and loves 
as the home of a forgotten dream. It was thus 
I felt by the fountains of Vaucluse ; sadly and 
with weary steps I turned away, leaving its lone- 
liness unbroken as before. 

"We returned over the plain in the wind, under 
the gloomy sky, passed L'Isle at dusk, and after 
walking an hour with a rain following close be- 
hind us, stopped at an auberge in Le Thor, where 
we rested our tired frames and broke our long- 
day's fasting. We were greeted in the morning 
with a dismal rain and wet roads, as we began 
the march. After a time, however, it poured 
down in such torrents, that we were obliged to 
take shelter in a remise by the roadside, where a 
good woman, who addressed us in the unintel- 
ligible Provencal, kindled up a blazing fire. On 
climbing a long hill, when the storm had abated, 
we experienced a delightful surprise. Below us 
lay the broad valley of the Rhone, with its 
meadows looking fresh and spring-like after the 
rain. The clouds were breaking away; clear 
blue sky was visible over Avignon, and a belt of 
sunlight lay warmly along the mountains of 
Languedoc. Many villages, with their tall, 
picturesque towers, dotted the landscape, and 
the groves of green olive enlivened the barren- 
ness of winter. Two or three hours' walk over 
the plain, by a road fringed with willows, brought 
us to the gates of Avignon. 

We walked around its picturesque turreted 
wall, and rambled through its narrow streets, 
washed here and there by streams which turn 
the old mill-wheels lazily around. We climbed 
up to the massive palace, which overlooks the 
city from its craggy seat, attesting the splendor 



V ALLEY OF THE RHONE. 421 

it enjoyed, when for thirty years the Papal 
Court was held there, and the gray, weather- 
beaten, irregular building, resembling a pile of 
precipitous rocks, echoed with revels of licentious 
prelates. We could not enter to learn the ter- 
rible secrets of the Inquisition, here unveiled, 
but we looked up at the tower, from which the 
captive Kienzi was liberated at the intercession 
of Petrarch. 

After leaving Avignon, we took the road up 
the Rhone for Lyons, turning our backs upon 
the rainy south. We reached the village of 
Sorgues by dusk, and accepted the invitation of 
an old dame to lodge at her inn, which proved 
to be a blacksmith's shop ! It was nevertheless 
clean and comfortable, and we sat down in one 
corner, out of the reach of the showers of sparks, 
which flew hissing from a red-hot horseshoe, that 
the smith and his apprentice were hammering. 
A Piedmontese pedlar, who carried the " Song of 
the Holy St. Philomene" to sell among the 
peasants, came in directly, and bargained for a 
sleep on some hay, for two sous. For a bed in 
the loft over the shop, we were charged five sous 
each, which, with seven sous for supper, made 
our expenses for the night about eleven cents ! 
Our circumstances demanded the greatest 
economy, and we began to fear whether even 
this spare allowance would enable us to reach 
Lyons. Owing to a day's delay in Marseilles, 
we had left that city with but fifteen francs each ; 
the incessant storms of winter and the worn-out 
state of our shoes, which were no longer proof 
against water or mud, prolonged our journey 
considerably, so that by starting before dawn and 
walking till dark, we were only able to make 
thirty miles a day. We could always procure 
beds for five sous, and as in the country inns one 
is only charged for what he chooses to order, 
our frugal suppers cost us but little. We pur- 
chased bread and cheese in the villages, and 



422 VIEWS A -FOOT. 

made our breakfasts and dinners on a bank by 
the roadside, or climbed the rocks and sat down 
by the source of some trickling rill. This simple 
fare had an excellent relish, and although we 
walked in wet clothes from morning till night, 
often lying down on the damp, cold earth to 
rest, our health was never affected. 

It is worth all the toil and privation we have 
as yet undergone, to gain, from actual experi- 
ence, the blessed knowledge that man always re- 
tains a kindness and brotherly sympathy to- 
wards his fellow — that under all the weight of 
vice and misery which a grinding oppression of 
soul and body brings on the laborers of earth, 
there still remains many bright tokens of a bet- 
ter nature. Among the starving mountaineers 
of the Hartz — the degraded peasantry of Bo- 
hemia — the savage contadini of Central Italy, 
or the dwellers on the hills of Provence and beside 
the swift Eh one, we almost invariably found 
kind, honest hearts, and an aspiration for some- 
thing better, betokening the consciousness that 
such brute-like, obedient existence was not their 
proper destiny. We found few so hardened as to 
be insensible to a kind look or a friendly word, 
and nothing made us forget we were among 
strangers so much as the many tokens of sym- 
pathy which met us when least looked for. A 
young Englishman, who had travelled on foot 
from Geneva to Rome, enduring many privations 
on account of his reduced circumstances, said to 
me, while speaking on this subject: "A single 
word of kindness from a stranger would make 
my heart warm and my spirits cheerful, for days 
afterwards." There is not so much evil in man 
as men would have us believe ; and it is a happy 
comfort to know and feel this. 

Leaving our little inn before daybreak the 
next morning, we crossed the Sorgues, grown 
muddy since its infancy at Vaucluse, like many 
a young soul, whose mountain purity goes out 



ROMAN REMAINS. 423 

into the soiling world and becomes sullied for- 
ever. The road passed over broad, barren 
ranges of hills, and the landscape was destitute 
of all interest, till we approached Orange. This 
city is built at the foot of a rocky height, a great 
square projection of which seemed to stand in 
its midst. As we approached nearer, however, 
arches and lines of cornice could be discerned, 
and we recognized it as the celebrated amphi- 
theatre, one of the grandest Roman relics in the 
south of France. 

I stood at the foot of this great fabric and 
gazed up at it in astonishment. The exterior 
wall, three hundred and thirty-four feet in length, 
and rising to the height of one hundred and 
twenty- one feet, is still in excellent preservation, 
and through its rows of solid arches one looks 
on the broken ranges of seats within; On the 
crag above, and looking as if about to topple 
down on it, is a massive fragment of the fort- 
ress of the Princes of Orange, razed by Louis 
XIV. Passing through the city we came to the 
beautiful Roman triumphal arch, which to my 
eye is a finer structure than that of Constantine 
at Rome. It is built of a rich yellow marble and 
highly ornamented with sculptured trophies. 
From the barbaric shields and the letters Mario, 
still remaining, it has been supposed to com- 
memorate the victory of Marius over the bar- 
barians, near Aix. A frieze running along the 
top, on each side, shows, although broken and 
much defaced by the weather, the life and action 
which once marked the struggling figures. These 
Roman ruins, scattered through Provence and 
Languedoc, though inferior in historical inter- 
est, equal in architectural beauty the greater 
part of those in the Eternal City itself. 

The rest of the day the road was monoton- 
ous, though varied somewhat by the tall crags 
of Mornas and Mont-dragon, towering over the 
villages of the same name. Night came on as 



424 VIEWS A -FOOT. 

the rock of Pierrelatte, at whose foot we were to 
sleep, appeared in the distance, rising like a Gib- 
raltar from the plain, and we only reached it in 
time to escape the rain tha/fc came down the val- 
ley of the Rhone. 

Next day we passed several companies of sol- 
diers on their way to Africa. One of them was 
accompanied by a young girl, apparently the 
wife of the recruit by whose side she was march- 
ing. She wore the tight blue jacket of the troop, 
and a red skirt, reaching to the knees, over her 
soldier pantaloons; while her pretty face showed 
to advantage beneath a small military cap. It 
.was a "Fille du Regiment" in real life. Near 
Montelimart, we lost sight of Mont Ventoux, 
whose gleaming white crest had been visible all 
the way from V aucluse, and passed along the 
base of a range of hills running near to the river. 
So went our march without a particular incident, 
till we bivouacked for the night among a com- 
pany of soldiers in the little village of Loriol. 

Leaving at six o'clock, wakened by the 
trumpets which called up the soldiery to their 
day's march, we reached the river Drome at 
dawn, and from the bridge over its rapid cur- 
rent, gazed at the dim, ash-colored masses of 
the Alps of Dauphine, piled along the sky far up 
the valley. The coming of morn threw a yellow 
glow along their snowy sides, and lighted up, 
here and there, a flashing glacier. The peas- 
antry were already up and at work, and cara- 
vans of pack-wagons rumbled along in the morn- 
ing twilight. We trudged on with them, and" 
by breakfast-time had made some distance of 
the way to Valence. The road, which does not 
approach the Rhone, is devoid of interest and 
tiresome, though under a summer sky, when the 
bare vine-hills are latticed over with green, and 
the fruit-trees covered with blossoms and foliage, 
it might be a scene of great beauty. 

Valence, which we reached towards noon, is a 



THE RHONE. 425 

commonplace city on the Rhone ; and my only 
reason for traversing its dirty streets in prefer- 
ence to taking the road, which passes without 
the walls, were — to get something for dinner, and 
because it might have been the birth-place of 
Aymer de Valence, the valorous Crusader, chron- 
icled in "Ivanhoe," whose tomb I had seen in 
Westminster Abbey. One of the streets which 
was marked "Rue Bayard" shows that my va- 
liant namesake — the knight without fear and re- 
proach — is still remembered in his native prov- 
ince. The ruins of his chateau are still standing 
among the Alps near Grenoble. 

In the afternoon we crossed the Isere, a swift, 
muddy river, which rises among the Alps of 
Dauphine. We saw their icy range, among 
which is the desert solitude of the Grand Char- 
treuse, far up the valley ; but the thick atmos- 
phere hid the mighty Mont Blanc, whose cloudy 
outline, eighty miles distant in a u bee line," is 
visible in fair weather. At Tain, we came upon 
the Rhone again, and walked along the base of 
the hills which contract its current. Here, I 
should call it beautiful. The scenery has a wild- 
ness that approaches to that of the Rhine. 
Rocky, castellated heights frown over the rush- 
ing waters, which have something of the majesty 
of their "exulting and abounding" rival. 
Winding around the curving hills, the scene is 
constantly varied, and the little willowed islets 
clasped in the embrace of the stream, mingle a 
trait of softened beauty with its sterner char- 
acter. 

After passing the night at a village on its 
banks, we left it again at St. Vallier, the next 
morning. At sunset, the spires of Vienne were 
visible, and the lofty Mont Pilas, the snows of 
whose riven summits feed the springs of the 
Loire on its western side, stretched majestically 
along the opposite bank of the Rhone. In a 
meadow, near Yienne, stands a curious Roman 



426 VIEWS A- FOOT. 

obelisk, seventy-six feet in height. The base is 
composed of four pillars, connected by arches, 
and the whole structure has a barbaric air, com- 
pared with the more elegant monuments of 
Orange and Nismes. Vienne, which is mentioned 
by several of the Roman historians under its 
present name, was the capital of the Allobroges, 
and I looked upon it with a new and strange in- 
terest, on calling to mind my school-boy days, 
when I had become familiar with that war-like 
race, in toiling over the pages of Caesar. We 
walked in the mud and darkness for what seemed 
a great distance, and finally took shelter in a 
little inn at the northern end of the city. Two 
Belgian soldiers, coming from Africa, were al- 
ready quartered there, and we listened to their 
tales of the Arab and the desert, while supper 
was preparing. 

The morning of the 25th was dull and rainy ; 
the road, very muddy and unpleasant, led over 
the hills, avoiding the westward curve of the 
Rhone, directly towards Lyons. About noon, 
we came in sight of the broad valley in which 
the Rhone first clasps his Burgundian bride — 
the Saone, and a cloud of Impenetrable coal- 
smoke showed us the location of Lyons. A 
nearer approach revealed a large flat dome, and 
some ranges of tall buildings near the river. 
We soon entered the suburb of La Guillotiere, 
which has sprung up on the eastern bank of the 
Rhone. Notwithstanding our clothes were like 
sponges, our boots entirely worn out, and our 
bodies somewhat thin with nine days exposure 
to the wintry storms in walking two hundred 
and forty miles, we entered Lyons with suspense 
and anxiety. But one franc apiece remained 
out of the fifteen with which we left Marseilles. 

B wrote home some time ago, directing a 

remittance to be forwarded to a merchant at 
Paris, to whom he had a letter of introduction, 
and in the hope that this had arrived, he deter- 



A GLOOM T SITUATION. 4J27 

mined to enclose the letter in a note, stating our 
circumstances, and requesting him to forward a 
part of the remittance to Lyons. We had then 
to wait at least four days ; people are suspicious 
and mistrustful in cities, and if no relief should 
come, what was to be done ? 

After wading through the mud of the suburbs, 
we chose a common-looking inn near the river, 
as the comfort of our stay depended wholly on 
the kindness of our hosts, and we hoped to find 
more sympathy among the laboring classes. 
We engaged lodgings for four or five days ; after 
dinner the letter was dispatched, and we wan- 
dered about through the dark, dirty city until 
night. Our landlord, Monsieur Ferrand, was a 
rough, vigorous man, with a gloomy, discon- 
tented expression; his words were few and 
blunt ; but a certain restlessness of manner, and 
a secret flashing of his cold, forbidding eye be- 
trayed to me some strong hidden excitement. 
Madame Ferrand was kind and talkative, 
though passionate ; but the appearance of the 
place gave me an unfavorable impression, which 
was heightened by the thought that it was now 
impossible to change our lodgings until relief 
should arrive. When bed-time came, a ladder 
was placed against a sort of high platform 
along one side of the kitchen ; we mounted and 
found a bed, concealed from the view of those 
below by a dusty muslin curtain. We lay there, 
between heaven and earth — the dirty earth of 
the brick floor and the sooty heaven of the ceil- 
ing—listening until midnight to the boisterous 
songs, and loud, angry disputes in the room ad- 
joining. Thus ended our first day in Lyons. 

Five weary days, each of them containing a 
month of torturing suspense, have since passed. 
Our lodging-place grew so unpleasant that we 
preferred wandering all day through the misty, 
muddy, smoky streets, taking refuge in the cov- 
ered bazaars when it rained heavily, The gloom 



428 VIEWS A- FOOT. 

of every thing around us, entirely smothered 
down the lightness of heart, which made us 
laugh over our embarrassments at Vienna. 
When at evening, the dull, leaden hue of the 
clouds seemed to make the air dark and cold 
and heavy, we walked beside the swollen and 
turbid Rhone, under an avenue of leafless trees, 
the damp soil chilling our feet and striking a 
numbness through our frames, and then I knew 
what those must feel who have no hope in their 
destitution, and not a friend in all the great 
world, who is not wretched as themselves. I prize 
the lesson, though the price of it is hard. 

"This morning," I said to B , "will termi- 
nate our suspense." I felt cheerful in spite of 
myself; and this was like a presentiment of 
coming good luck. To pass the time till the mail 
arrived we climbed to the chapel of Fourvieres, 
whose walls are covered with votive offerings to 
a miraculous picture of the Virgin. But at the 
precise hour we were at the Post Office. What 
an intensity of suspense can be felt in that min- 
ute, while the clerk is looking over the letters! 
And what a lightning-like shock of joy when it 
did come, and was opened with eager, trembling 
hands, revealing the relief we had almost de- 
spaired of! The city did not seem less gloomy, 
for that was impossible, but the faces of the 
crowd which had appeared cold and suspicious, 
were now T kind and cheerful. We came home to 
our lodgings with changed feelings, and Madame 
Ferrand must have seen the joy in our faces, for 
she greeted us with an unusual smile. 

We leave to-morrow morning for Chalons. I do 
not feel disposed to describe Lyons particularly, 
although I have become intimately acquainted 
with every part of it, from Presqu' isle Perrache 
to Croix Rousse. I know the contents of every 
shop in the Bazaar, and the passage of the 
Hotel Dieu— the title of every volume in the 
bookstores in the Place Belcour — and the coun> 



DEPARTURE FROM LYONS. 429 

tenance of every boot-black and apple-woman 
on the Quais on both sides of the river. I have 
walked up the Saone to Pierre Seise — down the 
Rhone to his muddy marriage— climbed the 
Heights of Fourvieres, and promenaded in the 
Cours Napoleon! Why, men have been presented 
with the freedom of cities, when they have had 
far. less cause for such an honor than this ! 



CHAPTER XLIV. 

TRAVELLING IN BURGUNDY— THE MISERIES OF A 
COUNTRY DILIGENCE. 

Paris, Feb. 6, 1846— Every letter of the date 
is traced with an emotion of joy, for our dreary 
journey is over. There was a magic in the name 
that revived us during a long journey, and now 
the thought that it is all over — that these walls 
vvhich enclose us, stand in the heart of the gay 
city — seems almost too joyful to be true. 
Yesterday I marked with the whitest chalk, on 
the blackest of all tablets to make the contrast 
greater, for I got out of the cramped diligence 
at the Barriere de Charenton, and saw before me 
in the morning twilight, the immense gray mass 
of Paris. I forgot my numbed and stiffened 
frame, and every other of the thousand disagree- 
able feelings of diligence travelling, in the 
pleasure which that sight afforded. 

We arose in the dark at Lyons, and after 
bidding adieu to morose Monsieur Ferrand, 
traversed the silent city and found our way in 
the mist and gloom to the steamboat landing 
on the Saone. The waters were swollen much 
above their usual level, which was favorable for 
the boat, as long as there was room enough left 
to pass under the bridges. After a great deal of 



430 VIEWS A- FOOT 

bustle we got under way, and were dashing out 
of Lyons, against the swift current, before day- 
break. We passed L'Isle Barbe, once a favorite 
residence of Charlemagne, and now the haunt of 
the Lyonnaise on summer holidays, and going 
under the supension bridges with levelled 
chimneys, entered the picturesque hills above, 
which are covered with vineyards nearly to the 
top; the villages scattered over them have those 
square, pointed towers, which give such a 
quaintness to French country scenery. 

The stream being very high, the meadows on 
both sides were deeply overflowed. To avoid 
the strong current in the centre, our boat ran 
along the banks, pushing aside the alder thickets 
and poplar shoots; in passing the bridges, 
the pipes were always brought down flat on 
the deck. A little after noon, we passed the 
large town of Macon, the birth-place of the poet 
Lamartine. The valley of Saone, no longer 
enclosed among the hills, spread out to several 
miles in width. Along the west lay in sunshine 
the vine mountains of Cote d'Or, and among the 
dark clouds in the eastern sky, we could barely 
distinguish the outline of the Jura. The waters 
were so much swollen as to cover the plain for 
two or three miles. We seemed to be sailing 
down a lake, with rows of trees springing up out 
of the water, and houses and villages lying like 
islands on its surface. A sunset that promised 
better weather tinged the broad brown flood, as 
Chalons came in sight, looking like a city built 
along the shore of a lake. We squeezed through 
the crowd of porters and diligence men, declining 
their kind offers, and hunted quarters to suit 
ourselves. 

We left Chalons on the morning of the 1st, in 
high spirits at the thought that there were but 
little more than two hundred miles between us 
and Paris. In walking over the cold, muddy 
plain, we passed a family of strolling musicians, 



THE RUTN AND ROCHEPOT. 43l 

who were sitting on a heap of stones by the 
roadside. An ill-dressed, ill-natured man and 
woman, each carrying a violin, and a thin, 
squalid girl with a tamborine, composed the 
group. Their faces bore that unfeeling stamp, 
which springs from depravity and degradation. 
When we had walked somewhat more than a 
mile, we overtook a little girl, who was crying 
bitterly. By her features, from which the fresh 
beauty of childhood had not been worn, and the 
steel triangle which was tied to her belt, we 
knew she belonged to the family we had 
passed. Her dress was thin and ragged and a 
pair of wooden shoes but ill protected her feet 
from the sharp cold. I stopped and asked her 
why she cried, but she did not at first answer. 
However, by questioning, I found her unfeeling- 
parents had sent her on without food ; she was 
sobbing with hunger and cold. Our pockets 
were full of bread and cheese which we had 
bought for breakfast, and we gave her half a 
loaf, which stopped her tears at once. She 
looked up and thanked us, smiling ; and sitting- 
down on a bank, began to eat as if half famished. 
The physiognomy of this region is very singu- 
lar. It appears as if the country had been 
originally a vast elevated plain, and some great 
power had scooped out, as with a hand, deep 
circular valleys all over its surface. In winding 
along the high ridges, we often looked down, on 
either side, into such hollows, several miles in 
diameter, and sometimes entirely covered with 
vineyards. At La Rochepot, a quaint, antique 
village, lying in the bottom of one of these dells, 
we saw the finest ruin of the middle ages that I 
have met with in France. An American lady 
had spoken to me of it in Rome, and I believe 
Willis mentions it in his " Pencillings," but it is 
not described in the guide books, nor could we 
learn what feudal lord had ever dwelt in its halls. 
It covers the summit of a stately rock, at whose 



432 VIEWS A -FOOT. 

foot the village is crouched, and the green ivy 
climbs up to the very top of its gray towers. 

As the road makes a wide curve around the 
side of the hill, we descended to the village by the 
nearer foot-path, and passed among its low, old 
houses, with their pointed gables and mossy 
roofs. The path led close along the foot of the 
rock, and we climbed up to. the ruin, and stood 
in its grass-grown courtyard. Only the outer 
walls and the round towers at each corner are 
left remaining ; the inner part has been razed to 
the ground, and where proud barons once mar- 
shalled their vassals, the villagers now play their 
holiday games. On one side, several Gothic 
windows are left standing, perfect, though of 
simple construction, and in the towers we saw 
many fire-places and door-ways of richly cut 
stone, which looked as fresh as if just erected. 

We passed the night at Ivry (not the Ivry 
which gained Henri Quatre his kingdom) and 
then continued our march over roads which I 
can only compare to our country roads in Amer- 
ica during the spring thaw. In addition to this, 
the rain commenced early in the morning and 
continued all day, so that we were completely 
wet the whole time. The plains, too high and 
cold to produce wine, were varied by forests of 
beech and oak, and the population was thinly 
scattered over them in small villages. Travellers 
generally complain very much of the monotony 
of this part of France, and, with such dreary 
weather, we could not disagree with them. 

As the day wore on, the rain increased, and 
the sky put on that dull, gray cast, which de- 
notes lengthened storm. We were fain to stop 
at nightfall, but there was no inn near at hand — 
not even a hovel of a cabaret in which to shelter 
ourselves, and, on enquiring of the wagoners, we 
received the comforting assurance that there 
was yet a league and a half to the nearest stop- 
ping place. On, then, we went, with the pitiless 



BT DILIGENCE TO PARIS. 433 

storm beating in our faces and on our breasts, 
till there was not a dry spot left, except what 
our knapsacks covered. We could not have 
been more completely saturated if we had been 
dipped in theYonne. "At length, after two hours 
of slipping and sliding along in the mud and wet 
and darkness, we reached Baulieu, and, by the 
warm fire, thanked our stars that the day's dis- 
mal tramp was over. 

By good or bad luck (I have not yet decided 
which) a vehicle was to start the next morning 
for Auxerre, distant sixty miles, and the fare 
being but five francs, we thought it wisest to take 
places. It was always with reluctance that we 
departed from our usual mode of travelling, but, 
in the present instance, the circumstances abso- 
lutely compelled it. 

Next morning, at sunrise, we took our seats 
in a large, square vehicle on two wheels, cal- 
culated for six persons and a driver, with a sin- 
gle horse. But, as he was fat and round as 
an elephant, and started off at a brisk pace, and 
we were well protected from the rain, it was not 
so bad after all, barring the jolts and jarred 
vertebra. We drove on, over the same dreary 
expanse of plain and forest, passing through 
two or three towns in the course of the day, and 
by evening had made somewhat more than hall* 
our journey. Owing to the slowness of our fresh 
horse, we were jolted about the whole night, and 
did not arrive at Auxerre until six o'clock in the 
morning. After waiting an hour in a hotel be- 
side the rushing Yonne, a lumbering diligence 
was got ready, and we were given places to 
Paris for seven francs. As the distance is one 
hundred and ten miles, this would be considered 
cheap, but I should not want to travel it again 
and be paid for doing so. Twelve persons were 
packed into a box not large enough for a cow, 
and no cabinet-maker ever dove-tailed the cor- 
ners of his bureaus tighter than we did our knees 



434 VIEWS A-FdVT. 

» 

and nether extremities. It is ray lot to be 
blessed with abundance of stature, and none but 
tall persons can appreciate the misery of sitting 
for hours with their joints in an immovable vise. 
The closeness of the atmosphere — for the pas- 
sengers would not permit the windows to be 
opened for fear of taking cold — combined with 
loss of sleep, made me so drowsy that my head 
was continually falling on my next neighbor, 
who, being a heavy country lady, thrust it in- 
dignantly away. I would then try my best to 
keep it up awhile, but it would droop gradually, 
till the crash of a bonnet or a smart bump 
against some other head would recall me, for a 
moment, to consciousness. 

We passed Joigny, on the Yonne, Sens, with 
its glorious old cathedral, and at dusk reached 
Montereau, on the Seine. This was the scene of 
one of Napoleon's best victories, on his return 
from Elba. In driving over the bridge, I looked 
down on the swift and swollen current, and hoped 
that its hue might never be darkened again so 
fearfully as the last sixty years have witnessed. 
No river in Europe has such an association con- 
nected with it. We think of the Danube, for its 
majesty, of the Rhine, for its wild beauty, but of 
the Seine— for its blood ! 

In coming thus to the last famed stream I 
shall visit in Europe, I might say, with Barry 
Cornwall : 

" We've sailed through banks of green, 

Where the wild waves fret and quiver; ; 

And we've down the Danube been — i 

The dark, deep, thundering river! 
We've thridded the Elbe and Rhone, 

The Tiber and blood dyed Seine, 
And we've been where the blue Garonne 

Goes laughing to meet the main! " 

All that night did we endure squeezing and suf- 
focation, and uo morn was ever more welcome 
than that which revealed to us Paris. With 



ARRIVAL IN PARIS. 435 

matted hair, wild, glaring eyes, and dusty and 
dishevelled habiliments, we entered the gay capi- 
tal, and blessed every stone upon which we 
placed our feet, in the fulness of our joy. 

In paying our fare at Auxerre, I was obliged to 
use a draft on the banker, Eougemont deLo wen- 
berg. The ignorant conductor hesitated to 
change this, but permitted us to go, on con- 
dition of keeping it until we should arrive. 
Therefore, on getting out of the diligence, after 
forty-eight hours of sleepless and fasting misery, 
the facteur of the office went with me to get it 

paid, leaving B to wait for us. I knew 

nothing of Paris, and this merciless man kept 
me for three hours at his heels, following him on 
all his errands, before he did mine, in that time 
traversing the whole length of the city, in order 
to leave a chevre-feuille at an aristocratic resi- 
dence in the Faubourg St. Germain. Yet even 
combined weariness and hunger could not pre- 
vent me from looking with vivid interest down a 
long avenue, at the Column of the place Yen- 
dome, in passing, and gazing up in wonder at 
the splendid portico of the Madeleine. But of 
anything else I have a very faint remembrance. 
"You can eat breakfast, now, I think," said he, 
when we returned, " we have walked more than 
four leagues! " 

I know we will be excused, that, instead of 
hurrying away to Notre Dame or the Louvre, 
we sat down quietly to a most complete 
breakfast. Even the most romantic must be 
forced to confess that admiration does not sit 
well on an empty stomach. Our first walk was 
to a bath, and then, with complexions several 
shades lighter, and limbs that felt as if lifted by 
invisible wings, we hurried away to the Post Of- 
fice. I seized the welcome missives from my far 
home, with a beating heart, and hastening back, 
read till the words became indistinct in the twi- 
light. 



436 VIEWS A-FOOT. 

CHAPTER XLV. 

POETICAL SCENES IN PARIS. 

What a gay little world in miniature this is ! I 
wonder not that the French, with their exuber- 
ant gaiety of spirit, should revel in its ceaseless 
tides of pleasures, as if it were an earthly Elys- 
ium. I feel already the influence of its cheerful 
atmosphere, and have rarely threaded the crowds 
of a stranger city, with so light a heart as I do now 
daily, on the thronged banks of the Seine. And 
yet it would be difficult to describe wherein con- 
sists this agreeable peculiarity. You can find 
streets as dark and crooked and dirty anywhere 
in Germany, and squares and gardens as gay 
and sunny beyond the Alps, and yet they would 
affect you far differently. You could not, as 
here, divest yourself of every particle of sad or 
serious thought and be content to gaze for hours 
on the showy scene, without an idea beyond the 
pi esent moment. It must be that the spirit of 
the crowd is magnetically contagious. 

The evening of our arrival we walked out past 
the massive and stately Hotel de Ville, and took 
a promenade along the Quais. The shops facing 
tha river presented a scene of great splendor. 
Several of the Quais on the north bank of the 
iSeine are occupied almost entirely by jewellers, 
the windows of whose shops, arranged in a style 
of the greatest taste, make a dazzling display. 
Rows of gold watches and chains are arranged 
across the crystal panes, and heaped in pyra- 
mids on long glass slabs ; cylindrical wheels of 
wire, hung with jewelled breastpins and ear-rings, 
turn slowly around by some invisible agency, 
displaying row after row of their glittering 



NOTRE DAME. 437 

From the centre of the Pont Neuf, we could see 
for a long distance up and down the river. The 
different bridges traced on either side a dozen 
starry lines through the dark air, and a con- 
tinued blaze lighted the two shores in their whole 
length, revealing the outline of the Isle de la 
Cite. I recognized the Palaces of the Louvre 
and the Tuileries in the dusky mass beyond. 
Eastward, looming against the dark sky, I could 
faintly trace the black towers of Notre Dame. 
The rushing of the swift waters below mingled 
With the rattling of a thousand carts and car- 
riages, and the confusion of a thousand voices, 
till it seemed like some grand nightly festival. 

I first saw Notre Dame by moonlight. The 
shadow of its stupendous front was thrown di- 
rectly towards me, hiding the innumerable lines 
of the ornamental sculpture which cover its tall, 
square towers. I walked forward until the inter- 
lacing, Moorish arches between them stood mil 
against the moon, and the light, struggling 
through the quaint openings of the tracery, 
streamed in silver lines down into the shadow. 
The square before it was quite deserted, for it 
stands on a lonely part of the Isle de la Cite, and 
it looked thus far more majestic and solemn than 
in the glaring daylight. 

The great quadrangle of the Tuileries encloses 
the Place du Carrousel, in the centre of which 
stands a triumphal arch, erected by Napoleon 
after his Italian victories. Standing in the mid- 
dle of this arch, you look through the open pas- 
sage in the central building of the palace, into 
the Gardens beyond. Further on, in a direct 
line, the middle avenue of the Gardens extends 
away to the Place de la Concorde, where the 
Obelisk of Luxor makes a perpendicular line 
through your vista ; still further goes the broad 
avenue through the Elysian Fields, until afar 
off, the Arc de 1' Etoile, two miles distant, closes 
this view through the palace doorway. 



438 VIEWS AFOOT. 

Let us go through it, and on, to fche Place de 
la Concorde, reserving the Gardens for another 
time. What is there in Europe — nay, in the 
world, — equal to this ? In the centre the mighty 
obelisk of red granite pierces the sky, — on either 
hand showers *of silver spray are thrown up 
from splendid bronze fountains— statues and 
pillars of gilded bronze sweep in a grand circle 
around the square, and on each side magnificent 
vistas lead the eye off, and combine the distant 
with the near, to complete this unparalleled 
view! Eastward, beyond the tall trees in the 
garden of the Tuileries, rises the long front of 
the Palace, with the tri-color floating above; 
westward, in front of us, is the forest of the 
Elysian Fields, with the arch of triumph nearly 
a mile and a half distant, looking down from the 
end of the avenue, at theBarriere de Neuilly. To 
the right and left are the marble fronts of the 
Church of the Madeleine and the Chamber of 
Deputies, the latter on the other side of the 
Seine. Thus the groves and gardens of Paris — 
the palace of her kings — the proud monument 
of her sons' glory — and the masterpieces of 
modern French architecture are all embraced in 
this one splendid coup d'ceil. 

Following the motley multitude to the bridge, 
I crossed and made my way to the Hotel des 
Invalides. Along the esplanade, playful com- 
panies of children were running and tumbling in 
their sports over the green turf, which was as 
fresh as a meadow ; while, not the least interest- 
ing feature of the scene, numbers of scarred and 
disabled veterans, in the livery of the Hospital, 
basked in the sunshine, watching with quiet 
satisfaction the gambols of the second genera- 
tion they have seen arise. What tales could 
they not tell, those wrinkled and feeble old men ! 
What visions of Marengo and Austerlitz and 
Borodino shift still with a fiery vividness through 
their fading memories ! Some may have left a 



SOLDIERS OF THE EMPIRE. 439 

limb on the Lybian desert ; and the sabre of the 
Cossack may have scarred the brows of oth- 
ers. They witnessed the rising and setting of 
that great meteor, which intoxicated France 
with such a blaze of power and glory, and now, 
when the recollection of that wonderful period 
seems almost like a stormy dream, they are left 
to guard the ashes of their ancient General, 
brought back from his exile to rest in the bosom 
of his own French people. It was to me a 
touching and exciting thing, to look on those 
whose eyes had witnessed the filling up of such a 
fated leaf in the world's history. 

Entrance is denied to the tomb of Napoleon 
until it is finished, which will not be for three or 
four years yet. I went, however, into the 
"Church of the Banners" — a large chapel, hung 
with two or three hundred flags taken by the 
armies of the Empire. The greater part of them 
were Austrian and Kussian. It appeared to be 
empty when I entered, but on looking around, I 
saw an old gray-headed soldier kneeling at one 
side. His head was bowed over his hands, and 
he seemed perfectly absorbed in his thoughts. 
Perhaps the very tattered banners which hung 
down motionless above his head, he might have 
assisted in conquering. I looked a moment on 
those eloquent trophies, and then noiselessly 
withdrew. 

There is at least one solemn spot near Paris ; 
the laughing winds that come up from the 
merry city sink into sighs under the cypress 
boughs of Pere Lachaise. And yet it is not a 
gloomy place, but full of a serious beauty, fitting 
for a city of the dead. I shall never forget the 
sunny afternoon when I first entered its gate and 
walked slowly up the hill, between rows of tombs, 
gleaming white amid the heavy foliage, while the 

freen turf around them was just beginning to 
e starred by the opening daisies. From the 
little chapel on its summit I looked back at the 



440 VIEWS A-FOOT. 

blue spires of the city, whose roar of life 
dwindled to a low murmur. Countless pyramids, 
obelisks and urns, rising far and wide above the 
cedars and cypresses, showed the extent of the 
splendid necropolis, which is inhabited by pale, 
shrouded emigrants from its living sister below. 
The only sad part of the view, was the slope of 
the hill alloted to the poor, where legions of 
plain black crosses are drawn up into solid 
squares on its side and stand alone and gloomy 
— the advanced guard of the army of Death ! I 
mused over the tombs of Moliere and La Fon- 
taine; Massena, Mortier and Lefebre; General 
Foy and jCasimir Perier; and finally descended 
to the shrine where Abelard reposes by the side 
of his Heloise. The old sculptured tomb, 
brought away from the Paraclete, still covers 
their remains, and pious hands (of lovers, per- 
haps,) keep fresh the wreaths of immortelles 
above their marble effigies. 

In the Theatre Francais, I saw Rachel, the 
actress. She appeared in the character of "Vir- 
ginia," in a tragedy of that name, by the poet 
Latour. Her appearance as she came upon the 
stage alone, convinced me she would not belie 
her renown. She is rather small in stature, with 
dark, piercing eyes and rich black hair ; her lips 
are full, but delicately formed, and her features 
have a marked yet flexible outline, which con- 
veys the minutest shades of expression. Her 
voice is clear, deep and thrilling, and like some 
grand strain of music, there is power and mean- 
ing in its slightest modulations. Her gestures 
embody the very spirit of the character ; she has 
so perfectly attained that rare harmony of 
thought, sound and action, or rather, that unity 
of feeling which renders them harmonious, that 
her acting seems the unstudied, irrepressible im- 
pulse of her soul. With the first sentence she 
uttered, I forgot Rachel. I only saw the inno- 
cent Roman girl ; I awaited in suspense and with 



FRAGMENT OF THE ILIAD. 441 

a powerful sympathy, the development of the 
oft-told tragedy. My blood grew warm with in- 
dignation when the words of Appius roused her 
to anger, and I could scarcely keep back my 
tears, when, with a voice broken by sobs, she 
bade farewell to the protecting gods of her 
father's hearth. 

Among the bewildering variety of ancient or- 
naments and implements in the Egyptian 
Gallery of the Louvre, I saw an object of start- 
ling interest. A fragment of the Iliad, written 
nearly three thousand years ago! One may 
even dare to conjecture that the torn and half- 
mouldered slip of papyrus, upon which he gazes, 
may have been taken down from the lips of the 
immortal Chian. The eyes look on those faded 
characters, and across the great gulf of Time, 
the soul leaps into the Past, brought into 
shadowy nearness by a mirage of the mind. 
There, as in the desert, images start up, vivid, 
yet of a vague and dreamy beauty. We see the 
olive groves of Greece — white-robed youths and 
maidens sit in the shade of swaying boughs — 
and one of them reads aloud, in words that 
sound like the clashing of shields, the deeds of 
Achilles. 

As we step out the western portal of the 
Tuileries, a beautiful scene greets us. We look 
on the palace garden, fragrant with flowers and 
classic with bronze copies of ancient sculpture. 
Beyond this, broad gravel walks divide the 
flower-bordered lawns and ranks of marble 
demigods and heroes look down on the joyous 
crowd. Children troll their hoops along the 
avenues or skip the rope under the clipped lin- 
dens, whose boughs are now tinged a pale yellow 
by the bursting buds. The swans glide about 
on a pond in the centre, begging bread of the 
bystanders, who watch a miniature ship which 
the soft breeze carries steadily across. Paris is 
unseen, but heard, on every side; only th© 



M2 VIEWS A FOOT. 

Column of Luxor and the Arc de Triomphe rise 
blue and grand above the top of the forest. 
What with the sound of voices, the merry 
laughter of the children and a host of smiling 
faces, the scene touches a happy chord in one's 
heart, and he mingles with it, lost in pleasant 
reverie, till the sounds fade away with the fading 
light. 

Just below the Baths of the Louvre, there are 
several floating barges belonging to the washer- 
women, anchored at the foot of the great stone 
staircase leading down to the water. They 
stand there day after day, beating their clothes 
upon flat boards and rinsing them in the Seine. 
One day there seemed to have been a wedding 
or some other cause of rejoicing among them, 
for a large number of the youngest were talking 
in great glee on one of the platforms of the 
staircase, while a handsome, German-looking 
youth stood near, with a guitar slung around 
his neck. He struck up a lively air, and the 
girls fell into a droll sort of a dance. They went 
at it heavily and roughly enough, but made up 
in good humor what they lacked in grace ; the 
older members of the craft looked up from their 
work with satisfaction and many snouts of ap- 
plause were sent down to them from the specta- 
tors on the Quai and the Pont Neuf. Not con- 
tent with this, they seized on some luckless men 
who were descending the steps, and clasping 
them with their powerful right arms, spun them 
around like so many tops and sent them whiz- 
zing off at a tangent. Loud bursts of laughter 
greeted this performance, and the stout river- 
maidens returned to their dance with redoubled 
spirit. 

Yesterday, the famous procession of the 
"bcauf gras" took place for the second time, 
with great splendor. The order of march had 
been duly announced beforehand, and by noon 
all the streets and squares through which it was 



THE CARNIVAL IN PARIS. 443 

to pass, were crowded with waiting spectators. 
Mounted gens d'armes rode constantly to and 
fro, to direct the passage of vehicles and keep 
an open thoroughfare. Thousands of country 
peasants poured into the city, the boys of whom 
were seen in all directions, blowing distressingly 
through hollow ox-horns. Altogether, the 
spirit of nonsense which animated the crowd, 
displayed itself very amusingly. 

A few mounted guards led the procession, fol- 
lowed by a band of music. Then appeared Ro- 
man lictors and officers of sacrifice, leading 
Dagobert, the famous bull of Normandy, des- 
tined to the honor of being slaughtered as the 
Carnival beef. He trod rather tenderly, finding, 
no doubt, a difference between the meadows of 
Caen and the pavements of Paris, and I thought 
he would have been willing to forego his gilded 
horns and flowery crown, to get back there 
again. His weight was said to be four thousand 
pounds, and the bills pompously declared that 
he had no rival in France, except the elephant 
in the Jardin des Plantes. 

After him came the farmer by whom he was 
raised, and M. Roland, the butcher of the carni- 
val, followed by a hundred of the same craft, 
dressed as cavaliers of the different ages of 
France. They made a very showy appearance, 
although the faded velvet and soiled tinsel of 
their mantles were rather too apparent by day- 
light. 

After all these had gone by, came an enormous 
triumphal car, very profusely covered with gild- 
ing and ornamental flowers. A fellow with long 
woollen hair and beard, intended to represent 
Time, acted as driver. In the car, under a gilded 
canopy, reposed a number of persons, in blue 
silk smocks and yellow "flesh-tights," said to be 
Venus, Apollo, the Graces, &c, but I endeavored 
in vain to distinguish one divinity from another. 
However, three children on the back seat, dressed 



444 VIEWS A FOOT. 

in the same style, with the addition of longflaxy 
ringlets, made very passable Cupids. This closed 
the march; which passed onward towards the 
Place de la Concorde, accompanied by the 
sounds of music and the shouts of the mob. 
The broad, splendid line of Boulevards, which 
describe a semi-circle around the heart of the 
city, were crowded, and for the whole distance of 
three miles, it required no slight labor to make 
one's way. People in masks and fancy costumes 
were continually, passing and repassing, and I 
detected in more than one of the carriages, 
cheeks rather too fair to suit the slouched hun- 
ter's hats which shaded them. It seemed as if 
all Paris was taking a holiday, and resolved to 
} aake the most of it. 



CHAPTER XLVI. 

A GLIMPSE OF NORMANDY. 

After a residence of five weeks, which, in spite 
of some few troubles, passed away quickly and 
delightfully, I turned my back on Paris. It was 
not regret I experienced on taking my seat in 
the cars for Versailles, but that feeling of reluc- 
tance with which we leave places whose brightness 
and gaiety force the mind away from serious 
toil. Steam, however, cuts short all sentiment, 
and in much less time than it takes to bid fare- 
well to a German, we had whizzed past the Place 
d'Europe, through the barrier, and were watch- 
ing the spires start up from the receding city, on 
the way to St. Cloud. 

At Versailles I spent three hours in a hasty 
walk through the palace, which allowed but a 
bare glance at the gorgeous paintings of Horace 



WALKING IN NORMANDT. 445 

Vernet. .His "Taking of Constantine" has the 
vivid look of reality. The white houses shine in 
the sun, and from the bleached earth to the blue 
and dazzling sky, there seems to hang a heavy, 
scorching atmosphere. The white smoke of the 
artillery curls almost visibly off the canvas, and 
the cracked and half-sprung walls look as if 
about to topple down on the besiegers. One 
series of halls is devoted to the illustration of 
the knightly chronicles of France, from the days 
of Charlemagne to those of Bayard and Gaston 
de Foix. Among these pictured legends, I looked 
with the deepest interest on that of the noble 
girl of Orleans. Her countenance — the same in 
all these pictures and in a beautiful statue of her, 
which stands in one of the corridors — is said to 
be copied from an old and well-authenticated 
portrait. United to the sweetness and purity of 
peasant beauty, she has the lofty brow and in- 
spired expression of a prophetess. There is a 
soft light in her full blue eye that does not belong 
to earth. I wonder not the soldiery deemed her 
chosen by God to tead them to successful battle ; 
had I lived in those times I could have followed 
her consecrated banner to the ends of the earth. 
In the statue, she stands musing, with her head 
drooping forward, as if the weight of the breast- 
plate oppressed her woman's heart; the melan- 
choly soul which shines through the marble 
seems to forebode the fearful winding-up of her 
eventful destiny. 

The afternoon was somewhat advanced, by 
the time I had seen the palace and gardens. 
After a hurried dinner at a restaurant, I shoul- 
dered my knapsack and took the road to St. 
Germain. The day was gloomy and cheerless, and 
I should have felt very lonely but for the thought 
of soon reaching England. There is no time of 
the year more melancholy than a cold, cloudy 
day in March ; whatever may be the beauties of 
pedestrian travelling in fairer seasons, my experi. 



446 VIEWS A- FOOT. 

ence dictates that during winter storms arid 
March glooms, it had better be dispensed with. 
However, I pushed on to St. Germain, threaded 
its long streets, looked down from the height 
over its magnificent tract of forest and turned 
westward down the Seine. Owing to the scanti- 
ness of villages, I was obliged to walk an hour 
and a half in the wind and darkness, before I 
reached a solitary inn. As I opened the door 
and asked for lodging, the landlady enquired if 
I had the necessary papers. I answered in the 
affirmative and was admitted. While I was 
eating supper, they prepared their meal on the 
other end of the small table and sat down 
together. They fell into the error, so common 
to ignorant persons, of thinking a foreigner 
could not understand them, and began talking 
quite unconcernedly about me. " Why don't he 
take the railroad?" said the old man: "he must 
have very little money — it would be bad for us 
if he had none." "Oh!" remarked his son, "if 
he had none, he would not be sitting there so 
quiet and unconcerned." I thought there was 
some knowledge of human nature in this remark. 
"And besides, added the landlady, "there is no 
danger for us, for we have his passport." Of 
course I enjoyed this in secret, and mentally 
pardoned their suspicions, when I reflected that 
the high roads between Paris and London are 
frequented by many impostors, which makes the 
people naturally mistrustful. I walked all the 
next day through a beautiful and richly culti- 
vated country. The early fruit trees were 
bursting into bloom, and the farmers led out 
their cattle to pasturage in the fresh meadows. 
The scenery must be delightful in summer — 
worthy of all that has been said or sung about 
Normandy. On the morning of the third day, 
before reaching Kouen, I saw at a distance the 
remains of Chateau Galliard, the favorite Castle 
of Richard Coeur de Lion. Rouen breathes 



LAST DAT ON THE CONTINENT. 447 

everywhere of the ancient times of Nor- 
mandy. Nothing can be more picturesque than 
its quaint, irregular wooden houses, and the low, 
mossy mills, spanning the clear streams which 
rush through its streets. The Cathedral, with 
its four towers, rises from among the clustered 
cottages like a giant rock, split by the lightning 
and worn by the rains of centuries into a 
thousand fantastic shapes. 

Resuming my walk in the afternoon, I climbed 
the heights west of the city, and after passing 
through a suburb four or five miles in length, 
entered the vale of the Cailly . This is one of the 
sweetest scenes in France. It lies among the 
woody hills like a Paradise, with its velvet 
meadows and villas and breathing gardens. 
The grass was starred with daisies and if I took 
a step into the oak and chestnut woods, I 
trampled on thousands of anemones and 
fragrant daffodils. The upland plain, stretching 
inward from the coast, wears a different char- 
acter. As I ascended, towards evening, and 
walked over its monotonous swells, I felt almost 
homesick beneath its saddening influence. The 
sun, hazed over with dull clouds, gave out that 
cold and lifeless light which is more lonely than 
complete darkness. The wind, sweeping dis- 
mally over the fields, sent clouds of blinding 
dust down the road, and as it passed through 
the forests, the myriads of fine twigs sent up a 
sound as deep and grand as the roar of a roused 
ocean. Every chink of the Norman cottage 
where I slept, whistled most drearily, and as I 
looked out the little window of my room, the trees 
were swaying in the gloom, and long, black clouds 
scudded across the sky. Though my bed was 
poor and hard, it was a sublime sound that 
cradled me into slumber. Homer might have 
used it as the lullaby of Jove. 

My last day on the continent came. I rose 
early and walked over the hills toward Dieppe. 



448 VIE WS A-FO O T. 

The scenery grew more bleak as I approached 
the sea, but the low and sheltered valleys 
preserved the pastoral look of the interior. In 
the afternoon, as I climbed a long, elevated 
ridge, over which a strong northwester Avas 
blowing, I was struck with a beautiful rustic 
church, in one of the dells below me. While 
admiring its neat tower I had gained uncon- 
sciously the summit of the hill, and on turning 
suddenly around, lo ! there was the glorious old 
Atlantic stretching far before and around me! 
A shower was sweeping mistily along the horizon 
and I could trace the white line of the breakers 
that foamed at the foot of the cliffs. The scene 
came over me like a vivid electric shock, and I 
gave an involuntary shout, which might have 
been heard in all the valleys around. After a 
year and a half of wandering over the continent, 
that gray ocean was something to be revered 
and loved, for it clasped the shores of my native 
America. 

I entered Dieppe in a heavy shower, and after 
finding an inn suited to my means and obtain- 
ing a permis d' embarquement from the police 
office, I went out to the battlements and looked 
again on the sea. The landlord promised to call 
me in time for the boat, but my anxiety waked 
me sooner, and mistaking the strokes of the ca- 
thedral bell, I shouldered my knapsack and went 
down to the wharf at one o'clock. No one was 
stirring on board the boat, and I was obliged to 
pace the silent, gloomy streets of the town for 
two hours. 1 watched the steamer glide out on 
the rainy channel, and turning into the topmost 
berth, drew the sliding curtain and strove to 
keep out cold and sea-sickness. But it was una- 
vailing; a heavy storm of snow and rain ren- 
dered our passage so dreary that I did not stir 
until we were approaching the chain pier at 
Brighton. 

I looked out on the foggy shores of England 



AGAIN IN L OND ON. 449 

with a feeling of relief; my tongue would now be 
freed from the difficult bondage of foreign lan- 
guages, and my ears be rejoiced with the music 
of my own. After two hours' delay at the Cus- 
tom House, I took my seat in an open car for 
London. The day was dull and cold; the sun 
resembled a milky blotch in the midst of a leaden 
sky. I sat and shivered, as we flew onward, 
amid the rich, cultivated English scenery. At 
last the fog grew thicker ; the road was carried 
over the tops of houses ; the familiar dome of 
St. Paul's stood out above the spires ; and I was 
again in London ! 



CHAPTER XLVII. 

LOCKHART, BERNARD BARTON AND CROLY — LONDON 
CHIMES AND GREENWICH FAIR. 

My circumstances, on arriving at London, 
were again very reduced. A franc and a half 
constituted the whole of my funds. This, joined 
to the knowledge of London expenses, rendered 
instant exertion necessary, to prevent still 
greater embarrassment. I called on a printer 
the next morning, hoping to procure work, but 
found, as I had no documents with me to show 
I had served a regular apprenticeship, this would 
be extremely difficult, although workmen were 
in great demand. Mr. Putnam, however, on 
whom I had previously called, gave me employ- 
ment for a time in his publishing establishment, 
and thus I was fortunately enabled to await the 
arrival of a remittance from home. 

Mrs. Trollope, whom I met in Florence, kindly 
gave me a letter to Murray, the publisher, and I 



450 VIEWS A- FOOT. 

visited him soon after my arrival. In his library 
I saw the original portraits of Byron, Moore, 
Campbell, and the other authors who were inti- 
mate with him and his father. A day or two af- 
terwards I had the good fortune to breakfast 
with Lockhart and Bernard Barton, at the 
house of the former. Mr. Murray, through 
whom the invitation was given, accompanied 
me there. As it was late when we arrived at 
Regent's Park, we found them waiting, and sat 
down immediately to breakfast. 

I was much pleased with Lockhart's appear- 
ance and manners. He has a noble, manly 
countenance — in fact, the handsomest English 
face I ever saw — a quick, dark eye and an ample 
forehead, shaded by locks which show, as yet, 
but few threads of gray. There is a peculiar 
charm in his rich, soft voice ; especially when re- 
citing poetry, it has a clear, organ-like vibration, 
which thrills deliriously on the ear. His daugh- 
ter, who sat at the head of the table, is a most 
lovely and amiable girl. 

Bernard Barton, who is now quite an old man, 
is a very lively and sociable Friend. His head is 
gray and almost bald, but there is still plenty 
of fire in his eyes and life in his limbs. His many 
kind and amiable qualities endear him to a large 
circle of literary friends. He still continues writ- 
ing, and within the last year has brought out a 
volume of simple, touching "Household Verses." 
A picture of cheerful and contented old age has 
never been more briefly and beautifully drawn, 
than in the following lines, which he sent me, 
in answer to my desire to possess one of his 
poems in his own hand : 

STANZAS. 

I feel that I am growing old, 

Nor wish to hide that truth; 
Conscious my heart is not more cold 

Than in my by -gone youth. 



BERNARD BARTON. 451 

I cannot roam the country round, 

As I was wont to do; 
My feet a scantier circle bound, 

My eyes a narrower view. 

But on my mental vision rise 

Bright scenes of beauty still: 
Morn's splendor, evening's glowing skies, 

Valley, and grove and hill. 

Nor can infirmities o'erwhelm 

The purer pleasures brought 
From the immortal spirit's realm 

Of Feeling and of Thought! 

My heart! let not dismay or doubt 

In thee an entrance win! 
Thou hast enjoyed thyself without — 

Noiv seek thy joy -tvitkin ! 

During breakfast he related to us a pleasant 
anecdote of Scott. He once wrote to the poet in 
behalf of a young lady, who wished to have the 
description of Melrose, in the "Lay of tho last 
Minstrel," in the poet's own writing. Scott sent 
it, but added these lines to the conclusion : 

"Then go, and muse with deepest awe 
On what the writer never saw; 
Who would not wander 'neath the moon 
To see what he could see at noon! " 

We went afterwards into Lockhart's library, 
which was full of interesting objects. I saw the 
private diary of Scott, kept until within a short 
time of his death. It Avas melancholy to trace 
the gradual failing of all his energies in the very 
wavering of the autograph. In a large volume 
of his correspondence, containing letters from 
Campbell, Wordsworth, Byron, and all the dis- 
tinguished characters of the age, I saw Camp- 
bell's " Battle of the Baltic " in his own hand. I. 
was highly interested and gratified with the 
whole visit ; the more so, as Mr. Lockhart had 
invited me voluntarily, without previous ac- 
quaintance. I have since heard him spoken of 
in the highest terms of esteem, 
15 



f\ 



452 VIEWS A- FOOT. 

I went one Sunday to the Church of St. Stephen, 
to hear Croly, the poet. The service, read by a 
drowsy clerk, was long and monotonous ; I sat 
in a side-aisle, looking up at the dome, and lis- 
tening to the rain which dashed in torrents 
against the window-panes. At last, a tall, gray- 
haired man came down the passage. He bowed 
with a sad smile, so full of benevolence and resig- 
nation, that it went into my heart at once, and 
I gave him an involuntary tribute of sympathy. 
He has a heavy affliction to bear — the death of 
his gallant son, one of the officers who were 
slain in the late battle of Ferozeshaw. His whole 
manner betrays the tokens of subdued but con- 
stant grief. 

His sermon was peculiarly finished and appro- 
priate; the language was clear and forcible, 
without that splendor of thought and dazzling 
vividness of imagery which mark "Salathiel." 
Yet I could not help noticing that he delighted 
to dwell on the spiritualities of religion, rather 
than its outward observances, which ho seemed 
inclined to hurry over as lightly as possible. His 
mild, gray eye and lofty forehead are more like 
the benevolent divine than the poet. I thought 
of Salathiel, and looked at the dignified, sorrow- 
ful man before me. The picture of the accursed 
Judean vanished, and his own solemn lines rang 
on my ear : 

" The mighty grave 
Wraps lord and slave, 
Nor pride, nor poverty dares come 
Within that prison-house, that tomb !" 

Whenever I hear them, or think of them again, 
I shall see, in memory, Croly's calm, pale coun- 
tenance. 

i*; 

"The chimes, the chimes of Mother-land, 
Of England, green and old ; 
That out from thane and ivied tower 
A thousand years have tolled !" 



THE CHIMES OF LONDON. 453 

I often thought of Coxe's beautiful ballad, 
when, after a day spent in Waterloo Place, I 
have listened, on my way homeward, to the 
chimes of Mary-le-bone Chapel, sounding sweetly 
and clearly above all the din of the Strand. 
There is something in their silvery vibration, 
which is far more expressive than the ordinary 
tones of a bell. The ear becomes weary of a 
continued toll— the sound of some bells seems 
to have nothing more in it than the ordinary 
clang of metal — but these simple notes, following 
one another so melodiously, fall on the ear, 
stunned by the ceaseless roar of carriages or 
the mingled cries of the mob, as gently and 
gratefully as drops of dew. "Whether it be morn- 
iDg, and they ring out louder and deeper through 
the mist, or midnight, when the vast ocean of 
being beneath them surges less noisily than its 
wont, they are alike full of melody and poetry. 
I have often paused, deep in the night, to hear 
those clear tones, dropping down from the dark- 
ness, thrilling, with their full, tremulous sweet- 
ness, the still air of the lighted Strand, and 
Minding away through dark, silent lanes and 
solitary courts, till the ear of the care-worn 
watcher is scarcely stirred with their dying vi- 
brations. They seemed like those spirit-voices, 
which, at such times, speak almost audibly to 
the heart. How delicious it must be, to those 
who dwell within the limits of their sound, to 
wake from some happy dream and hear those 
chimes blending in with their midnight fancies, 
like the musical echo of the promised bliss. I 
love these eloquent bells, and I think there must 
be many, living out a life of misery and suffer- 
ing, to whom their tones come with an almost 
human consolation. The natures of the very 
cockneys, who never go without the horizon of 
their vibrations, is, to my mind, invested with 
one hue of poet^ ! 

A few days ago, an American friend invited me 



454 VIEWS A- FOOT. 

to accompany him to Greenwich Fair. We took 
a penny steamer from Hungerford Market to 
London Bridge, and jumped into the cars, which 
go every five minutes. Twelve minutes' ride 
above the chimneys of London and the vegeta- 
ble-fields of Eotherhithe and Deptford brought 
us to Greenwich, and we followed the stream of 
people which was flowing from all parts of the 
city into the Park. 

Here began the merriment. We heard on 
every side the noise of the "scratchers," or, as 
the venders of these articles denominated them — 
"the fun of the fair." By this is meant a little 
notched wheel, with a piece of wood fastened on 
it, like a miniature watchman's rattle. The 
"fun" consists in drawing them down the back 
of any one you pass, when they make a sound 
precisely like that of ripping cloth. The women 
take great delight in this, and as it is only 
deemed politeness to return the compliment, we 
soon had onough to do. Nobody seemed to 
take the diversion amiss, but it was so irresist- 
ibly droll to see a large crowd engaged in this 
singular amusement, that we both burst into 
hearty laughter. 

As we began ascending Greenwich Hill, we 
were assailed, with another kind of game. The 
ground was covered with smashed oranges, with 
which the people above and below were stoutly 
pelting each other. Half a dozen heavy ones 
whizzed uncomfortably near my head as I went 
up, and I saw several persons get the full benefit 
of a shot on their backs and breasts. The 
young country lads and lasses amused them- 
selves by running at full speed down the steep 
side of a hill. This was, however, a feat at- 
tended with some risk ; for I saw one luckless 
girl describe an arc of a circle, of which her feet 
was the centre and her body the radius. All was 
noise and nonsenrjo. They ran to and fro under 
the long, hoary boughs of the venerable oaks 



GREENWICH FAIR. 455 

that crest the summit, and clattered down the 
magnificent forest-avenues, whose budding foli- 
age gave them little shelter from the passing 
April showers. 

The view from the topis splendid. The stately 
Thames curves through the plain below, which 
loses itself afar off in the mist; Greenwich, with 
its massive hospital, lies just at one's feet, and 
in a clear day the domes of London skirt the 
horizon. The wood of the Park is entirely oak 
— the majestic, dignified, English oak— which 
covers, in picturesque clumps, the sides and 
summits of the two billowy hills. It must be a 
sweet place in summer, when the dark, massive 
foliage is heavy on every mossy arm, and the 
smooth and curving sward shines with thou- 
sands of field-flowers. 

Owing to the showers, the streets were coated 
with mud, of a consistence as soft and yielding 
as the most fleecy Persian carpet. Near the gate, 
boys were holding scores of donkeys, w r hich they 
offered us at threepence for a ride of two miles. 
We walked down towards the river, and came at 
last to a group of tumblers, who with muddy 
hands and feet were throwing somersets in the 
open street. I recognized them as old acquaint- 
ances of the Rue St. Antoine and the Champs 
Elysees; but the little boy who cried before, be- 
cause he did not want to bend his head and feet 
into a ring, like a hoop-snake, had learned his 
part better by this time, so that he went through 
it all without whimpering and came off with 
only a fiery red face. The exercises of the young 
gentlemen were of course very graceful and 
classic, and the effect of their poses of strength 
was very much heightened by the muddy foot- 
marks which they left on each other's orange- 
colored skir.rj. 

The avenue of booths was still more diverting. 
Here under sheets of leaky awning, were exposed 
for sale rows of gilded gingerbread kings and 



456 VIEWS A -FOOT. 

queens, and I cannot remember how many men 
and women held me fast by the arms, deter- 
mined to force me into buying a pound of them. 
We paused at the sign: "Signor XJrbani's 
Grand Magical Display." The title was at- 
tractive, so we paid the penny admission, and 
walked behind the dark, mysterious curtain. 
Two bare brick walls, three benches and a little 
boy appeared to us. A sheet hung before us 
upon which quivered the shadow of some terri- 
ble head. At my friend's command, the boy 
(also a spectator) put out the light, when the 
awful and grinning- face of a black woman be- 
came visible. While w T e were admiring this strik- 
ing production, thus mysteriously revealed, Sig- 
nor ITrbani came in, and seeing no hope of any 
more spectators, went behind the curtain and 
startled our sensitive nerves with six or seven 
skeleton and devil apparitions, winding up the 
wonderful entertainment with the same black 
head. W r e signified our entire approbation by 
due applause and then went out to seek further 
novelties. 

The centre of the square was occupied by 
swings, where some eight or ten boat-loads of 
persons were flying topsy-turvy into the air, 
making one giddy to look at them, and constant 
fearful shrieks arose from the lady swingers, at 
finding themselves in a horizontal or inverted 
position, high above the ground. One of the 
machines was like a great wheel, with four cars 
attached, which mounted and descended with 
their motley freight. We got into the boat by 
way of experiment. The starting motion was 
pleasant, but very soon it flew with a swiftness 
and to a height rather alarming. I began to re- 
pent having chosen such a mode of amusement, 
but held on as well as I could, in my uneasy 
place. Presently we mounted till the long beam 
of our boat was horizontal; at one instant, I 
saw three young ladies below me, with their 



A LONDON FOG. 457 

heads downward, like a shadow in the water— 
the next I was turned heels up, looking at them 
as a shadow does at its original. I was fast be- 
coming sea-sick, when, after a few minutes of such 
giddy soaring, the ropes were slackened and we 
all got out, looking somewhat pale and feeling 
nervous, if nothing else. 

There were also many great tents, hung with 
boughs and lighted with innumerable colored 
lamps, where the people danced their country 
dances in a choking cloud of dry saw-dust. Con- 
jurors and gymnastic performers were showing 
off on conspicuous platforms, and a continual 
sound of drums, cymbals and shrill trumpets 
called the attention of the crowd to some ' c Won- 
derful Exhibition" — some infant phenomenon, 
giant, or three-headed pig. A great part of the 
crowd belonged evidently to the very worst part 
of society, but the watchfulness of the police 
prevented any open disorder. We came away 
early and in a quarter of an hour were in busy 
London, leaving far behind us the revel and de- 
bauch, which was prolonged through the whole 
night. 

London has the advantage of one of the most 
gloomy atmospheres in the world. During this 
opening spring weather, no light and scarcely 
any warmth can penetrate the dull, yellowish- 
gray mist, which incessantry hangs over the city. 
Sometimes at noon we have for an hour or two 
a sickly gleam of sunshine, but it is soon swal- 
lowed up by the smoke and drizzling fog. The 
people carry umbrellas at all times, for the rain 
seems to drop spontaneously out of the very air, 
without waiting for the usual preparation of a 
gathering cloud. Professor Espy's rules would 
be of little avail here. 

A few days ago we had a real fog — a specimen 
of November weather, as the people said. If 
November wears such a mantle, London, during 
that sober month, must furnish a good idea of 



458 VIEWS A- FOOT. 

the gloom of Hades. The streets were wrapped 
in a veil of dense mist, of a dirty yellow color, 
as if the air had suddenly grown thick and 
mouldy. The houses on the opposite sides of the 
street were invisible, and the gas-lamps, lighted 
in the shops, burned with a white and ghastly 
flame. Carriages ran together in the streets, 
and I was kept constantly on the look-out, lest 
some one should come suddenly out of the cloud 
around me, and we should meet with a shock 
like that of two knights at a tournament. As I 
stood in the centre of Trafalgar Square, with 
every object invisible around me, it reminded me, 
(hoping the comparison will not be accepted in 
every particular) of Satan resting in the middle 
of Chaos. The weather sometimes continues 
thus for whole days together. 

April 26. — An hour and a half of land are still 
allowed us, and then we shall set foot on the 
back of the oak-ribbed leviathan, which will be 
our home until a thousand leagues of blue ocean 
are crossed. I shall hear the old Aldgate clock 
strike for the last time — I shall take a last walk 
through the Minories and past the Tower yard , 
and as we glide down the Thames, St. Pauls, 
half-hidden in mist and coal-smoke, will proba- 
bly be my last glimpse of London. 



CHAPTER XLVIII. 

HOMEWAED BOUND—CONCLUSION. 

We slid out of St. Katharine's Dock at noon 
on the appointed day, and with a pair of sooty 
steamboats hitched to our vessel, moved slowly 
down the Thames in mist and drizzliug rain. I 
stayed oa the wet deck all afternoon, that I 



THE CHANNEL. 459 

might more forcibly and joyously feel we were 
again in motion on the waters and homeward 
bound ! My attention was divided between the 
dreary views of Blackwall, Greenwich and Wool- 
wich, and the motley throng of passengers who 
were to form our ocean society. An English 
family, going out to settle in Canada, were 
gathered together in great distress and anxiety, 
for the father had gone ashore in London at a 
late hour, and was left behind. When we an- 
chored for the night at Gravesend, their fears 
were quieted by his arrival in a skiff from the 
shore, as he had immediately followed us by 
railroad. 

My cousin and B had hastened on from 

Paris to join me, and a day before the sailing of 
the " Victoria, " we took berths in the second 
cabin, for twelve pounds ten shillings each, which 
in the London line of packets, includes coarse 
but substantial fare for the whole voyage. Our 
funds were insufficient to pay even this; but 
Captain Morgan, less mistrustful than my Nor- 
man landlord, generously agreed that the re- 
mainder of the fare should be paid in America. 

B and I, with two young Englishmen, took 

possession of a state-room of rough boards, 
lighted by a bull's-eye, which in stormy weather 
leaked so much that our trunks swam in water. 
A narrow mattress and blanket with a knapsack 
for a pillow, formed a passable bed. A long 
entry between the rooms, lighted by a feeble 
swinging lamp, was filled with a board table, 
around which the thirty-two second cabin pas- 
sengers met to discuss politics and salt pork, 
favorable winds and hard sea-biscuit. 

We lay becalmed opposite Sheerness the vvhole 
of the second day. At dusk a sudden squall 
came up, which drove us foaming towards the 
North Foreland. When I went on deck in the 
morning, we had passed Dover and Brighton, 
and the Isle of Wight was rising dim ahead 



460 VIEWS A FOOT. 

of us. The low English coast on our right 
was bordered by long reaches of dazzling 
chalky sand, which glittered along the calm blue 
water. 

Gliding into the Bay of Portsmouth, we drop- 
ped anchor opposite the romantic town of Ryde, 
built on the sloping shore of the Green Isle of 
Wight. Eight or nine vessels of the Experi- 
mental Squadron were anchored near us, and 
over the houses of Portsmouth, I saw the masts 
of the Victory — the flag-ship in the battle of 
Trafalgar, on board of which Nelson was killed. 
The wind was not strong enough to permit the 
passage of the Needles, so at midnight we suc- 
ceeded in wearing back again into the channel, 
around the Isle of Wight. A head wind forced 
us to tack away towards the shore of France. 
We were twice in sight of the rocky coast of Brit- 
tany, near Cherbourg, but the misty promon- 
tory of Land's End was our last glimpse of the 
old world. 

On one of our first day's at sea, I caught a 
curlew, which came flying on weary wings to- 
wards us, and alighted on one of the boats. 
Two of his brethren, too much exhausted or too 
timid to do likewise, dropped flat on the waves 
and resigned themselves to their fate without a 
struggle. I slipped up and caught his long, lank 
legs, w^hile he was resting with flagging wings 
and half-shut eyes. We fed him, though it was 
diflicult to get anything down his reed-shaped 
bill ; but he took kindly to our force-work, and 
Avhen we let him loose on the deck, walked about 
with an air quite tame and familiar. He died, 
howQver, two days afterwards. A French pig- 
eon, vhich was caught in the rigging, lived and 
throve during the whole of the passage. 

A few days afterwards a heavy storm came on, 
and we were all sleepless and sea-sick, as long as 
it lasted. Thanks, however, to a beautiful la/w of 
memory, the recollection of that dismal period 



ON THE A TL ANTIC. 461 

soon lost its unpleasantness, while the grand 
forms of beauty the vexed ocean presented, will 
remain forever, as distinct and abiding. images. 
I kept on deck as long as I could stand, watching 
the giant waves over which our vessel took her 
course. They rolled up towards us, thirty or forty 
feet in height — dark gray masses, changing to a 
beautiful vitriol tint, wherever the light struck 
through their countless and changing crests. It 
was a glorious thing to see our good ship mount 
slowly up the side of one of these watery hills. 
till her prow was lifted high in air, then, rocking 
over its brow, plunge with a slight quiver down- 
ward, and plough up a briny cataract, as she 
struck the vale. I never before realized the ter- 
rible sublimity of the sea. And yet it was a 
pride to see how man — strong in his godlike will 
— could bid defiance to those whelming surges, 
and brave their wrath unharmed. 

We swung up and down on the billows, till we 
scarcely knew which way to stand. The most 
grave and sober personages suddenly found 
themselves reeling in a very undignified manner, 
and not a few measured their lengths on the 
slippery decks. Boxes and barrels were affected 
in like manner; everything danced around us. 
Trunks ran out from under the berths; packages 
leaped down from the shelves; chairs skipped 
across the rooms, and at table, knives, forks 
and mugs engaged in a general waltz and break 
down. One incident of this kind was rather 
laughable. One night, about midnight, the 
gale, which had been blowing violently, sud- 
denly lulled, "as if," to use a sailor's phrase, "it 
had been chopped off ! " Instantly the ship 
gave a tremendous lurch, which was the signal 
for a general breaking loose. Two or three 
others followed, so violent, that for a moment I 
imagined the vessel had been thrown on her 
beam ends. Trunks, crockery and barrels went 
banging down from one end of the ship to the 



m VIEWS A FOOT. 

other. The women in the steerage set up an 
awful scream, and the German emigrants, think- 
ing we were in terrible danger, commenced pray- 
ing with might and main. In the passage near 
our room stood several barrels, filled with 
broken dishes, which at every lurch went bang- 
ing from side to side, jarring the board parti- 
tion and making a horrible din. I shall not 
soon forget the Babel which kept our eyes open 
that night. 

The 19th of May a calm came on. Our white 
wings flapped idly on the mast, and only the 
top-gallant sails were bent enough occasionally 
to lug us along at a mile an hour. A barque 
from Ceylon, making the most of the wind, with 
every rag of canvas set, passed us slowly on the 
way eastward. The sun went down unclouded, 
and a glorious starry night brooded over us. 
Its clearness and brightness were to me indica- 
tions of America. I longed to be on shore. 
The forests about home were then clothed in 
the delicate green of their first leaves, and that 
bland weather embraced the sweet earth like a 
blessing of heaven. The gentle breath from out 
the west seemed made for the odor of violets, 
and as it came to me over the slightly-ruffled 
deep, I thought how much sweeter it were to feel 
it, while "wasting in wood-paths the voluptuous 
hours." 

Soon afterwards a fresh wind sprang up, 
which increased rapidly, till every sail was bent 
to the full. Our vessel parted the brine with an 
arrowy glide, the ease and grace of which it is 
impossible to describe. The breeze held on 
steadily for two or three days, which brought 
us to the southern extremity of the Banks. 
Here the air felt so sharp and chilly, that I was 
afraid we might be under the lee of an iceberg, 
but in the evening the dull gray mass of clouds 
lifted themselves from the horizon, and the sun 
set in clear, American beauty away beyond Lab- 



1-1 OME AG A IN. 463 

rador. The next morning we were enveloped 
in a dense fog, and the wind which bore us on- 
ward was of a piercing coldness. A sharp look- 
out was kept on the bow, but as we could see but 
a short distance, it might have been dangerous 
had we met one of the Arctic squadron. At 
noon it cleared away again, and the bank of 
fog was visible a long time astern, piled along 
the horizon, reminding me of the Alps, as seen 
from the plains of Piedmont. 

On the 31st, the fortunate wind which carried 
us from the Banks, failed us about thirty-five 
miles from Sandy Hook. We lay in the midst of 
the mackerel fishery, with small schooners 
anchored all around us. Fog, dense and im- 
penetrable, weighed on the moveless ocean, like 
an atmosphere of wool. The only incident to 
break the horrid monotony of the day, was the 
arrival of a pilot, with one or two newspapers, 
detailing the account of the Mexican war. We 
heard in the afternoon the booming of the surf 
along the low beach of Long Island — hollow and 
faint, like the murmur of a shell. When the mist 
lifted a little, we saw the faint line of breakers 
along the shore. The Germans gathered on deck 
to sing their old, familiar songs, and their voices 
blended beautifully together in the stillness. 

Next morning at sunrise we saw Sandy Hook ; 
at nine o'clock we were telegraphed in New York 
by the station at Coney Island ; at eleven the 
steamer " Hercules " met us outside the Hook ; 
and at noon we were gliding up the Narrows, 
with the whole ship's company of four hundred 
persons on deck, gazing on the beautiful shores 
of Staten Island and agreeing almost univers- 
ally, that it was the most delightful scene they 
had ever looked upon. 

And now I close the story of my long wander- 
ing, as I began it— with a lay written on the 
deep. 



•164 VIEWS A-FOOT. 

HOMEWARD BOUND. 

Farewell to Europe! Days have come and gone 
Since misty England set behind the sea. 
Our 6hip climbs onward o'er the lifted waves, 
That gather up in ridges, mountain-high 
And like a sea-god, conscious in his power, 
Buffets the surges. Storm-arousing winds 
That sweep, unchecked, from frozen Labrador, 
Make wintry music through the creaking shrouds. 
Th' horizon's ring, that clasps the dreary view, 
Lays mistily upon the gray Atlantic's breast, 
Shut out, at times, by bulk of sparry blue, 
That, rolling near us, heaves the swaying prow 
High on its shoulders, to descend again 
Ploughing a thousand cascades, and around 
Spreading the frothy foam. These watery gulfs, 
With storm, and winds far-sweeping, hem us in, 
Alone upon the waters ! 

Days must pass- 
Many and weary — between sea and sky. 
Our eyes, that long e'en now for the fresh green 
Of sprouting forests, and the far blue stretch 
Of regal mountains piled along the sky, 
Must see, for many an eve, the level sun 
Sheathe, with his latest gold, the heaving brine, 
By thousand ripples shivered, or Night's pomp 
Brooding in silence, ebon and profound, 
Upon the murmuring darkness of the deep, 
Broken by flashings, that the parted wave 
Sends white and star-like through its bursting foam. 
Yet not more dear the opening dawn of heaven 
Poured on the earth in an Italian May, 
When souls take wings upon the scented air 
Of starry meadows, and the yearning heart 
Pains with deep sweetness in the balmy time, 
Than these gray morns, and days of misty blue, 
And surges, never-ceasing; — for our prow 
Points to the sunset like a morning ray, 
And o'er the waves, and through the sweeping storms, 
Through day and darkness, rushes ever on, 
Westward and westward still! What joy can send 
The spirit thrilling onward with the wind, 
In untamed exultation, like the thought 
That fills the Homeward Bound? 

Country and home! 
Ah! not the charm of silver-tongued romance, 
Born of the feudal time, nor whatsoe'er 
Of dying glory fills the golden realms 



HOMEWARD BOUND. 465 

Of perished song, where heaven descended Art 
Still boasts her later triumphs, can compare 
With that one thought of liberty inherited — 
Of free life giv'n by fathers who were free, 
And to be left to children freer still! 
That pride and consciousness of manhood, caught 
From boyish musings on the holy graves 
Of hero-martyrs, and from every form 
Which virgin Nature, mighty and unchain»d, 
Takes in an empire not less proudly so — 
Inspired in mountain airs, untainted yet 
By thousand generations' breathing — felt 
Like a near presence in the awful depths 
Of unhewn forests, and upon the steep 
Where giant rivers take their maddening plunge- 
Has grown impatient of the stifling damps 
Which hover close on Europe's shackled soil. 
Content to tread awhile the holy steps 
Of Art and Genius, sacred through all time, 
The spirit breathed that dull, oppressive air— • 
Which, freighted with its tyrant-clouds, o'erweighs 
The upward throb of many a nation's soul — 
Amid those olden memories, felt the thrall, 
But kept the birth-right of its freer home. 
Here, on the world's blue highway, comes again 
The voice of Freedom, h^ard amid the roar 
Of sundered billows, while above the wave 
Rise visions of the forest and the stream. 
Like trailing robes the morning mists uproll, 
Torn by the mountain pines; the flashing rills 
Shout downward through the hollows of the vales; 
Down the great river's bosom shining sails 
Glide with a gradual motion, while from all — 
Hamlet, and bowered homestead, and proud town- 
Voices of joy ring far up into heaven! 

Yet louder, winds! Urge on our keel, ye waves, 
Swift as the spirit's yearnings ! We would ride 
With a loud stormy motion o'er your crests, 
With tempests shouting like a sudden joy — 
Interpreting our triumph! 'Tis your voice, 
Ye unchained elements, alone can speak 
The sympathetic feeling of the free — 
The arrowy impulse of the Homeward Bound! 



I shall not attempt to describe the excite jient 
of that afternoon. After thirty-seven days be- 
tween sky and water, any shore would have been 



466 VIEWS A- FOOT. 

beautiful, but when it was home, after we had 
been two years absent, during an age when time 
is always slow, it required a powerful effort to 
maintain any propriety of manner. The steward 
prepared a partiug dinner, much better than any 
Ave had had at sea ; but I tried in vain to eat. 
Never were trees such a glorious green as those 
around the Quarantine buildings, where we lay 
to for half an hour, to be visited by the physi- 
cian. The day was cloudy, and thick mist hung 
on the tops of the hills, but I felt as if I could 
never tire looking at the land. 

At last we approached the city. It appeared 
smaller than when I left, but this might have 
been because I was habituated to the broad dis- 
tances of the sea. Our scanty baggage was 
brought on deck, for the inspection of the cus- 
tom-house officer, but we were neither annoyed 
nor delayed by the operation. The steamer by 
this time had taken us to the pier at Pine-street 
wharf, and the slight jar of the vessel as she 
came alongside, sent a thrill of delight through 
our frames. But when finally the ladder was let 
down, and we sprang upon the pier, it was with 
an electric shock, as if of recognition from the 
very soil. It was about four o'clock in the after- 
noon, and we were glad that night was so near 
at hand. After such strong excitement, and 
even bewilderment of feeling as we had known 
since morning, the prospect of rest was very 
attractive. 

But no sooner were we fairly deposited in a 
hotel, than we must needs see the city again. 
How we had talked over this hour ! How we 
had thought of the life, the neatness, the com- 
fort of our American cities, when rambling 
through some filthy and depopulated capital of 
the Old World! At first sight our anticipations 
were not borne out ; there had been heavy rains 
for a week or two, and the streets were not re- 
markably clean ; houses were being built up or 



LANDING AT NEW YORK. 467 

taken down, on all sides, and the number of trees 
in full foliage, every where visible, gave us the 
idea of an immense unfinished country town. I 
took this back, it is true, the next morning, when 
the sun was bright and the streets were thronged 
Avith people. But what activity, what a restless 
eagerness and even keenness of expression on 
every countenance ! I could not have believed 
that the general cast of the American face was so 
sharp ; yet nothing was so remarkable as the 
perfect independence of manner which we noticed 
in all, down to the very children. I can easily 
conceive how this should jar with the feelings of 
a stranger, accustomed to the deference, not to 
say servility, in which the largest class of the 
people of Europe is trained; but it was a most 
refreshing change to us. 

Life at sea sharpens one's sensibilities to the 
sounds and scents of land, in a very high degree. 
We noticed a difference in the atmosphere of dif- 
ferent streets, and in the scent of leaves and 
grass, which a land friend who was with us failed 
entirely to distinguish. The next day, as we 
left New York, and in perfect exultation of spirit 
sped across New Jersey, (which was never half 
so beautiful to our eyes,) I could feel nothing 
but one continued sensation of the country — fra- 
grant hay-field and wild clearing, garden and 
marshy hollow, and the cool shadow of the 
woodlands — I was by turns possessed with the 
spirit of them all. The twilight deepened as we 
passed down the Delaware; I stood on the prom- 
enade deck and watched the evening star kind- 
ling through the cloudless flush of sunset, while 
the winds that came over the glassy river bore 
me the odor of long-remembered meadow Aoav- 
ers. We asked each other what there was in the 
twilights of Florence and Yallombrosa more 
delicious than this ? 

A night in neat, cheerful, home-like Philadel- 
phia; Avhose dimensions Avere also a little 



468 VIEWS A- FOOT. 

shrunken in our eyes, and a glorious June morn- 
ing broke on the last day of our pilgrimage. 
Again we were on the Delaware, pacing the deck 
in rapture at the green, luxuriant beauty of its 
shores. Is it not worth years of absence, to 
learn how to love one's land as it should be 
loved? Two or three hours brought us to Wil- 
mington, in Delaware, and within twelve miles 
of home. Now came the realization of a plan we 
had talked over a hundred times, to keep up our 
spirits when the weather was gloomy, or the 
journey lay through some waste of barren coun- 
try. Our knapsacks, which had been laid down 
in Paris, were again taken up, slouched German 
hats substituted for our modern black cylinders, 
belt and blouse donned, and the pilgrim staff 
grasped for the rest of our journey. But it was 
a part of our plan, that we should not reach 
home till after nightfall ; we could not think of 
seeing any one we knew before those who were 
nearest to us ; and so it was necessary to wait a 
few hours before starting. 

The time came; that walk of three or four 
hours seemed longer than many a day's tramp 
of thirty miles, but every step of the way was 
familiar ground. The people we met stared, 
laughed, or looked suspiciously after us, but we 
were quite insensible to any observation. We 
only counted the fields, measured the distance 
from hill to hill, and watched the gradual de- 
cline of the broad, bright sun. It went down at 
last, and our homes were not far off. When the 
twilight grew deeper, we parted, and each 
thought what an experience lay between that 
moment and the next morning. I took to the 
fields, plunged into a sea of dewy clover, and 
made for a light which began to glimmer as it 
grew darker. When I reached it and looked 
with the most painful excitement through the 
window on the unsuspecting group within, there 
was not one face missing. 



REQUISITES FOR A PEDESTRIAN. 469 



CHAPTER XLIX. 

ADVICE AND INFORMATION FOR PEDESTRIANS. 

Although the narrative of my journey, "with 
knapsack and staff," is now strictly finished, a 
few more words of explanation seem necessary, 
to describe more fully the method of travelling 
which we adopted. I add them the more will- 
ingly, as it is my belief that many, whose cir- 
cumstances are similar to mine, desire to under- 
take the same romantic journej^. Some matter- 
of-fact statements may be to them useful as well 
as interesting. 

To see Europe as a pedestrian requires lit tie 
preparation, if the traveller is willing to forego 
some of the refinements of living to which he 
may have been accustomed, for the sake of the 
new and interesting fields of observation which 
will be opened to him. He must be content to 
sleep on hard beds, and partake of coarse fare ; 
to undergo rudeness at times from the officers of 
the police and the porters of palaces and gal- 
leries; or to travel for hours in rain and storm, 
without finding a shelter. The knapsack will at 
first be heavy upon the shoulders, the feet will be 
sore and the limbs weary with the day's walk, 
and sometimes the spirit will begin to flag un- 
der the general fatigue of body. This, however, 
soon passes over. In a week's time, if the pedes- 
trian does not attempt too much on setting out, 
his limbs are stronger, and his gait more firm 
and Aigorous ; he lies down at night with a feel- 
ing of refreshing rest, sleeps with a soundness 
undisturbed by a single dream, that seems al- 
most like death, if he has been accustomed to 
restless nights; and rises invigorated in heart 



470 VIEWS A- FOOT 

and frame for the next day's journey. The 
coarse black bread of the peasant inns, with 
cheese no less coarse, and a huge mug of milk or 
the nourishing beer of Germany, have a relish to 
his keen appetite, which excites his own astonish- 
ment. And if he is willing to regard all incivility 
and attempts at imposition as valuable lessons 
in the study of human nature, and to keep his 
temper and cheerfulness in any situation which 
may try them, he is prepared to walk through 
the whole of Europe, with more real pleasure to 
himself, and far more profit, than if he journeyed 
in style and enjoyed (?) the constant services of 
couriers and valets de place. 

Should his means become unusually scant, he 
will find it possible to travel on an amazingly 
small pittance, and with more actual bodily 
comfort than would seem possible, to one who 
has not tried it. I was more than once obliged 
to walk a number of days in succession, on less 
than a franc a day, and found that by far the 
greatest drawback to my enjoyment was the fear 
that I might be without relief when this allow- 
ance should be exhausted. One observes, ad- 
mires, wonders and learns quite as extensively, 
under such circumstances, as if he had unlimited 
means. Perhaps some account of this truly 
pilgrim-like journeying, may possess a little in- 
terest for the general reader. 

The only expense that cannot be reduced at 
will, in Europe, is that for sleeping. You may 
live on a crust of bread a day, but lower than 
four cents for a bed you cannot go ! In Ger- 
many this is the regular price paid by travelling 
journeymen, and no one need wish for a more 
comfortable resting place, than those massive 
boxes, (when you have become accustomed to 
their shortness,) with their coarse but clean 
linen sheets, and healthy mattresses of straw. In 
Italy the price varies from half a paul to a paul, 
(ten cents,) but a person somewhat familiar 



LIFE IN THE OPEN AIR. 471 

with the language would not often be asked 
more than the former price, for which he has a 
bed stuffed with corn-husks, large enough for at 
least three men. I was asked in France, five 
sous in all the village inns, from Marseilles to 
Dieppe. The pedestrian cares far more for a 
good rest, than for the quality of his fare, and a 
walk of thirty miles prepares him to find it, on 
the hardest couch. I usually rose before sun- 
rise, and immediately began the day's journey, 
the cost of lodging having been paid the Eight 
before — a universal custom among the common 
inns, which are frequented by the peasantry. At 
the next village, I would buy a loaf of the hard 
brown bread, with some cheese, or butter, or 
whatever substantial addition could be made at 
trifling cost, and breakfast upon a bank, by the 
roadside, lying at full length on the dewy grass, 
and using my knapsack as a table. I might also 
mention that a leathern pouch, fastened to one 
side of this table, contained a knife and fork, 
and one or two solid tin boxes for articles which 
could not be carried in the pocket. A similar 
pouch at the other side held pen and ink, and a 
small bottle, which was filled sometimes with 
the fresh water of the streams, and sometimes 
with the common country wine, of the year's 
vintage, which costs from three to six sous the 
quart. 

After walking more than half the distance to 
be accomplished, with half an hour's rest, dinner 
would be made in the same manner, and while 
we rested the full hour alloted to the mid-day 
halt, guide-books would be examined, journals 
written, a sketch made of the landscape, or our 
minds refreshed by reading a passage in Milton 
or Childe Harold. If it was during the cold, wet 
days of winter, we sought a rock, or sometimes 
the broad abutment of a chance bridge, upon 
which to lie; in summer, it mattered little 
whether we rested in sun or shade, under a bright 



4.72 VIMWS A-FOOl'. 

or rainy sky. The vital energy which this life in 
the open air gives to the constitution, is remark- 
able. The very sensation of health and strength 
becomes a positive luxury, and the heart over- 
flows with its buoyant exuberance of cheerful- 
ness. Every breath of the fresh morning air 
was like a draught of some sparkling elixir, 
gifted with all the potency of the undiscovered 
Fountain of youth. "We felt pent and oppressed 
within the walls of a dwelling ; it was far more 
agreeable to march in the face of a driving 
shower, under whose beating the blood grew 
fresh and warm, than to sit by a dull fireplace, 
waiting for it to cease. Although I had lived 
mainly upon a farm till the age of seventeen, and 
was accustomed to out-door exercise, I never be- 
fore felt how much life one may draw from air 
and sunshine alone. 

Thus, what at first was borne as a hardship, 
became at last an enjoyment, and" there seemed 
to be no situation so extreme, that it did not 
possess some charm to my mind, which made me 
unwilling to shrink from the experience. Still, as 
one depth of endurance after another was reached, 
the words of Cicero would recur to me as en- 
couragement — "Perhaps even this may hereafter 
be remembered with pleasure." Once only, while 
waiting six days at Lyons in gloomy weather and 
among harsh people, without a sous, and with a 
strong doubt of receiving any relief, I became 
indifferent to what might happen, and would 
have passively met any change for the worse — 
as men who have been exposed to shipwreck for 
days, scarce make an effort to save themselves 
when the vessel strikes at last. 

One little experience of this kind, though less 
desperate, may be worth relating. It happened 
during my stay in Florence ; and what might 
not a man bear, for the sake of living in the 
midst of such a Paradise? My comrade and I 
had failed to receive a remittance at the expected 



STAR] T A TI ON EXPERIENCE. 4T3 

time, and our funds had gone down to zero. The 
remaining one of our trio of Americans, who had 
taken a suite of rooms in company, a noble- 
hearted Kentuckian, shared his own means with 
us, till what he had in Florence was nearly ex- 
hausted. His banker lived in Leghorn and he 
concluded to go there and draw for more, in- 
stead of having it sent through a correspondent. 

B decided to accompany him, and two 

young Englishmen, who had just arrived on foot 
from Geneva, joined the party. They resohed 
on making an adventure out of the expedition, 
and it was accordingly agreed that they should 
lake one of the market-boats of the Arno, and 
sail down to Pisa, more than fifty miles distant, 
by the river. We paid one or two visits to the 
western gate of the city, where numbers of these 
craft always lie at anchor, and struck a bargain 
with a sturdy boatman, that he should take 
them for a scudo (about one dollar) each. 

The hour of starting was nine o'clock in the 
evening, and I accompanied them to the start- 
ing place. The boat had a slight canvas cover- 
ing, and the crew consisted only of the owner 
and his son Antonio, a boy of ten. I shall not 
recount their voyage all that night, (which was 
so cold, that they tied each other up in the boat- 
man's meal-bags, around the neck, and lay 
down in a heap oil the ribbed bottom of the 
boat,) nor their adventure in Pisa and Leghorn. 
They were to be absent three or four days, and 
had left me money enough to live upon in the 
meantime, but the next morning an unexpected 
expense consumed nearly the whole of it. I had 
about four crazie (three cents) a day for my 
meals, and by spending one of these for bread, 
and the remainder for ripe figs, of which one 
crazie will purchase fifteen or twenty, I managed 
to make a diminutive breakfast and dinner, but 
was careful not to take much exercise, on ac- 
count of the increase of hunger. As it happened, 



474 VIEWS A- FOOT. 

my friends remained two days longer than I had 
expected, and the last two crazie I had were ex- 
pended for one day's provisions. I then decided 
to try the next day without any thing, and act- 
ually felt a curiosity to know what one's sensa- 
tions would be, on experiencing tw^o or three days 
of starvation. I knew that if the feeling should 
become insupportable, I could easily walk out to 
the mountain of Fiesole, where a fine fig orchard 
shaded the old Roman amphitheatre. But the 
experiment was broken off in its commencement, 
by the arrival of the absent ones, in the middle 
of the night. Such is the weakness of human 
nature, that on finding I should not want for 
breakfast, I arose from bed, and ate two or three 
figs which, by a strong exertion, I had saved 
from the scanty allowance of the day. I only 
relate this incident to show that the severest de- 
privation is very easily borne, and that it is 
worth bearing for what it teaches. 

So also, when a storm came up at nightfall, 
while we were a league distant from the end of 
our journey, after the first natural shrinking 
from its violence was over, there was a sublime 
pleasure in walking in the midst of darkness and 
dashing rain. There have been times when the 
sky was black, just revealing its deeps of whelm- 
ing cloud, and the winds full of the cold, fresh, 
saddening spirit of the storm, which I would not 
have exchanged for the brightness of a morning 
beside the sea. 

A few w x ords in relation to a pedestrian's 
equipment may be of some practical value. An 
idea of the general appearance of the travelling 
costume of a German student, which I adopted 
as the most serviceable and agreeable, may be 
obtained from the portrait accompanying this 
volume, but there are many small particulars, in 
addition, which I have often been asked to give. 
It is the best plan to take no more clothing than 
is absolutely required, as the traveller will not 



EQUIPMENTS. 475 

desire to carry more than fifteen pounds on his 
back, knapsack included. A single suit of good 
dark cloth, with a supply of linen, will be 
amply sufficient. The strong linen blouse, con- 
fined by a leather belt, will protect it from the 
dust, and when this is thrown aside on entering 
a city, the traveller makes a very respectable 
appearance. The slouched hat of finely-woven 
felt, is a delightful covering to the head, serving 
at the same time as umbrella or night-cap, 
travelling dress or visiting costume. No one 
should neglect a good cane, which, besides its 
feeling of companionship, is equal to from three 
to five miles a day, and may serve as a defence 
against banditti, or savage Bohemian dogs. In 
the Alps, the tall staves, pointed with iron, and 
topped with a curved chamois horn, can be 
bought for a franc apiece, and are of great 
assistance in crossing ice-fields, or sustaining the 
weight of the body in descending steep and diffi- 
cult passes. 

An umbrella is inconvenient, unless it is short 
and may be strapped on the knapsack, but even 
then, an ample cape of oiled silk or India rubber 
cloth is far preferable. The pedestrian need not 
be particular in this respect ; he will soon grow 
accustomed to an occasional drenching, and I am 
not sure that men, like plants, do not thrive 
under it, when they have outgrown the hot- 
house nature of civilization, in a life under the 
open heaven. A portfolio, capable of hard serv- 
ice with a guide-book or two, pocket-compass 
and spy-glass, completes the contents of the 
knapsack, though if there is still a small corner to 
spare, I would recommend that it be filled with 
pocket editions of one or two of the good old 
English classics. It is a rare delight to sit down 
in the gloomy fastnesses of the Hartz, or in the 
breezy valleys of Styria, and read the majestic 
measures of our glorious bards. Milton is first 
fully appreciated, when you look up from his 



476 VIEWS A- FOOT. 

page to the snowy ramparts of the Alps, which 
shut out all but the Heaven of whose beauty he 
sang; and all times and places are fitting for the 
universal Shakespeare. Childe Harold bears 
such a glowing impress of the scenery on which 
Byron's eye has dwelt, that it spuke to me like 
the answering heart of a friend, from the crag of 
Drachenfels, in the rushing of the arrowy Rhone, 
and beside the breathing marbles of the Vatican 
and the Capitol. 

A little facility in sketching from nature is a 
most useful and delightful accomplishment for 
the pedestrian . He may bring away the features 
of wild and unvisited landscapes, the pictur- 
esque fronts of peasant cottages and wayside 
shrines, or the simple beauty of some mountain 
child, watching his herd of goats. Though hav- 
ing little knowledge and no practice in the art, 
I persevered in my awkward attempts, and was 
soon able to take a rough and rapid, but toler- 
ably correct outline of almost any scene. These 
memorials of two years of travel have now a 
value to me, which I would not exchange for the 
finest engravings, however they might excel in 
faithfuLrepresentation. Another article of equip- 
ment, which I had almost forgotten to mention, 
is a small bottle of the best Cogniac, with which 
to bathe the feet, morning and evening, for the 
first week or two, or as long as they continue 
tender with the exercise. It was also very 
strengthening and refreshing, when the bodj^ 
was unusually weary with a long day's walking 
or climbing, to use as an outward stimulant; 
for I never had occasion to apply it internally. 
Many of the German students wear a wicker 
flask, slung over their shoulder, containing 
kirschwasser, which they mix with the water of 
the mountain streams, but this is not at all 
necessary to the traveller's health and comfort. 

These students, with all their irregularities, 
are a noble, warm-hearted class, and make the 



ACCEPT ANT COMPANION. 477 

best companions in the world. During the 
months of August and September, hundreds of 
them ramble through Switzerland and the Tyrol, 
extending their route sometimes to Venice and 
Rome. With their ardent love for every thing 
republican, they will always receive an American 
heartily, consecrate him as a bursch, and admit 
him to their fellowship. With the most of them, 
an economy of expense is part of the habit of 
their student-life, and they are only spendthrifts 
on the articles of beer and tobacco. A month's 
residence in Heidelberg, the most beautiful place 
in Germany, will serve to make the young 
American acquainted with their habits, and able 
to join them for an adventurous foot-journey, 
with the greatest advantage to himself! 

We always accepted a companion of whatever 
kind, while walking — from chimney-sweeps to 
barons. In a strange country one can learn 
something from every peasant, and we neglected 
no opportunity, not only to obtain information, 
but to impart it. We found every where great, 
curiosity respecting America, and we were al- 
ways glad to tell them all they wished to know. 
In Germany, we were generally taken for Ger- 
mans from some part of the country where the 
dialect was a little different, or, if they remarked 
our foreign peculiarities, they supposed we were 
either Poles, Russians, or Swiss. The greatest 
ignorance in relation to America prevails 
among the common people. They imagine we 
are a savage race, without intelligence and al- 
most without law. Persons of education who had 
some slight knowledge of our history, showed 
a curiosity to know something of our political 
condition. They are taught by the German 
newspapers (which are under a strict censorship 
in this respect) to look only at the evil in our 
country, and they almost invariably began by 
adverting to Slavery and Repudiation. While 
we admitted, often with shame and mortification, 



478 • VIEWS A- FOOT. 

the existence of things so inconsistent with true 
republicanism, we endeavored to make them 
comprehend the advantages enjoyed by the free 
citizen — the complete equality of birth — which 
places America, despite her sins, far above any 
other nation on earth. I could plainly see by 
the kindling eye and half-suppressed sigh, that 
they appreciated a freedom so immeasurably 
greater than that which they enjoyed. 

In large cities we always preferred to take the 
second or third-rate hotels, which are generally 
visited by merchants and persons who travel oil 
business ; for, with the same comforts as the first 
rank, they are nearly twice as cheap. A trav- 
eller, with a guide-book and a good pair of eyes, 
can also dispense with the services of a courier, 
whose duty it is to conduct strangers about the 
city, from one lion to another. We chose rather 
to find out and view the "sights " at our leisure. 
In small villages, where we were often obliged to 
stop, we chose the best hotels, which, particu- 
larly in Northern Germany and in Italy, are none 
too good. But if it was a post, that is, a town 
where the post-chaise stops to change horses, 
we usually avoided the post-hotel, where one 
must pay high for having curtains before his 
windows and a more elegant cover on his bed. 
In the less splendid country inns, we always 
found neat, comfortable lodging, and a pleasant, 
friendly reception from the people. They saluted 
us on entering, with "Be you welcome," and on 
leaving, wished us a pleasant journey and good 
fortune. The host, when he brought us supper 
or breakfast, lifted his cap, and wished us a 
good appetite — and when he lighted us to our 
chambers, left us with "May you sleep well!" 
We generally found honest, friendly people; 
they delighted in telling us about the country 
around ; what ruins there were in the neighbor- 
hood — and what strange legends were connected 
With them. The only part of Europe where it is 



fJVJYS AA'D PASSPORTS. 479 

unpleasant to travel in this manner, is Bohemia. 
"We could scarcely find a comfortable inn; the 
people all spoke an unknown language, and 
were not particularly celebrated for their hon- 
esty. . Beside this, travellers rarely go on foot in 
those regions; we were frequently taken for 
travelling handwerker, and subjected to imposi- 
tion. 

With regard to passports, although they were 
vexatious and often expensive, we found little 
difficulty when we had acquainted ourselves 
with the regulations concerning them . In France 
and Germany they are comparatively little 
trouble; in Italy they are the traveller's greatest 
annoyance. Americans are treated with less 
strictness, in this respect, than citizens of other 
nations, and, owing to the absence of rank 
among us, they also enjoy greater advantages 
of acquaintance and intercourse. 

The expenses of travelling in England, although 
much greater than in our own country, may, as 
we learned by experience, be brought, through 
economy, within the same compass. Indeed, it 
is my belief, from observation, that, with few 
exceptions, throughout Europe, where a trav- 
eller enjoys the same comfort and abundance 
as in America, he must pay the same prices. 
The principal difference is, that he only pays for 
what he gets, so that, if he be content with the 
necessities of life, without its luxuries, the 
expense is in proportion. 

The best coin for the traveller's purpose, is 
English gold, which passes at a considerable 
premium on the Continent, and is readily 
accepted at all the principal hotels. Having to 
earn my means as I went along, I was obliged 
to have money forwarded in small remittances, 
generally in drafts on the house of Hottingeur 
& Co., in Paris, which could be cashed in any 
large city of Europe. If only a short tour is 
intended, and the pedestrian's means are limited. 



m VIEWS A- FOOT. 

he may easily carry the necessary amount with 
him. There is little danger of robbery for those 
who journey in such an humble style. I never 
lost a single article in this manner, and rarely 
hadjany feeling but that of perfect security. 
No part of our own country is safer in this 
respect than Germany, Switzerland or France. 
Italy still bears an unfortunate reputation for 
honesty; the defiles of the Apennines and the 
hollows of the Roman Cam pagna are haunted by 
banditti, and persons who travel in their own 
carriages are often plundered. I saw the caves 
and hiding-places of these outlaws among the 
evergreen shrubbery, in the pass of Monte 
Somma, near Spoleto, but as we had a dragoon 
in the crazy old vehicle, we feared no hindrance 
from them. A Swedish gentleman in Rome told 
me he had walked from Ancona, through the 
mountains to the Eternal City, partly by night, 
but that, although he met with many meaning 
faces, he was not disturbed in any way. An 
English artist of my acquaintance walked from 
Leghorn along the Tuscan and Tyrrhene coast 
to Civita Vecchia, through a barren and savage 
district, overgrown with aloes and cork-trees, 
without experiencing any trouble, except from 
the extreme curiosity of the ignorant inhabit- 
ants. The fastnesses of the Abruzzi have been 
explored with like facility by daring pedestrians ; 
indeed, the sight of a knapsack seems to serve 
as a free passport with all highwaymen. 

I have given, at times, through the foregoing 
chapters, the cost of portions of my journey and 
residence in various cities of Europe. The 
cheapest country for travelling, as far as my 
experience extended, is Southern Germany, 
where one can travel comfortably on twenty-five 
cents a day. Italy and the south of France 
come next in order, and are but little more 
expensive; then follow Switzerland and North- 
ern Germany, and lastly, Great Britain, The 



cheapest city, and one of the pleasantest in the 
world, is Florence, where we breakfasted on five 
cents, dined sumptuously on twelve, and went to 
a good opera for ten. A man would find no 
difficulty in spending a year there, for about 
$250. This fact may be of some importance to 
those whose health requires such a stay, yet are 
kept back from attempting the voyage through 
fear of the expense. Counting the passage to 
Leghorn at fifty or sixty dollars, it will be seen 
how little is necessary for a year's enjoyment of 
the sweet atmosphere of Italy. In addition to 
these particulars, the following connected esti- 
mate will better show the minimum expense of a 
two year's pilgrimage : 

Voyage to Liverpool, in the second cabin $24 00 

Three weeks' travel in Ireland and Scotland 25 00 

A week in London, at three shillings a day 4 50 

From London to Heidelberg 15 00 

A month at Heidelberg, and trip to Frankfort 20 00 

Seven months in Frankfort, at $10 per month 70 00 

Fuel, passports, excursions and other expenses 30 00 

Tour through Cassel, the Hartz, Saxony, Austria, 

Bavaria, &c 40 00 

A month in Frankfort 10 00 

From Frankfort through Switzerland, and over the 

Alps to Milan 15 00 

From Milan to Genoa 60 

Expenses from Genoa to Florence 14 00 

Four months in Florence 50 00 

Eight days' journey from Florence to Rome, two 

weeks in Rome, voyage to Marseilles, and 

journey to Paris 40 00 

Five weeks in Paris 15 00 

From Paris to London 8 00 

Six weeks in London, at three shillings a day 31 00 

Passage home 60 00 

$472 00 

The cost for places of amusement, guides' 
fees, and other small expenses, not included in 
this list, increases the sum total to $500, for 
which the tour may be made, Now having, I 
hope, established this to the reader's satisfac- 
tion, I resx>ectftillv take leave of him. 

PLEASE return this book 



promptly* and give 



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JAN 79 

N. MANCHESTER, 
INDIANA 46962 








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